


Smoke and Ash

by dorkery



Series: Sankt Mariens: Prussia, Our Lady of the Land [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1940s, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape, Cold War, F/M, Gender Issues, Gender Roles, Simulated Death, Soldiers, War Crimes, War Era, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-16
Updated: 2011-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-26 03:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorkery/pseuds/dorkery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-WWII, the tragedies and treacheries from before and after the war psychologically shape what is left of a fallen power, birthing a new nation.</p><p>or</p><p>Prussia accepts her lot after the war and does her best to pick up the pieces.</p><p>Part of the fem!Prussia history arc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Filled for the Hetalia Kink Meme.](http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/18439.html?thread=61466119#t61466119)
> 
> There is no actual depiction of sex scenes or rape scenes in this story. The original prompt wanted something historical regarding the mass rapes of East German women post-WWII and so what I did instead was to explore how war crimes and gender roles played off each other to transform the Soviet occupation zone into a new state in all. This is very much a "rehabilitation" story in that Prussia does what she can to piece herself and her people back together again.
> 
> That being said, as of the beginning of this story, her identity as a woman was unknown.
> 
> [](http://etcetera-desu.livejournal.com/16302.html)  
>  **Original resource page with notes!**  
>  **LJ Links:** [[1]](http://etcetera-desu.livejournal.com/15315.html) [[2]](http://etcetera-desu.livejournal.com/15392.html) [[3]](http://etcetera-desu.livejournal.com/15865.html) [[4]](http://etcetera-desu.livejournal.com/15880.html)
> 
>  **PDF:** You can [download it here](http://www.scribd.com/doc/65359920), or read it on [this LJ post](http://etcetera-desu.livejournal.com/16638.html) where it's been embedded. Alternatively, download it from [mediafire](http://www.mediafire.com/?pgkugu09dm7zg6y).

Outside it was dull and grey, the din of jeeps and equipment and surrendering troops playing like an eternal loop of white noise, incessant and not quite yet irritating. That was the sound of victory to the Allies. Their boots clicked smartly against the gravel, in tandem, almost drowned out by the rumble of engines, and it sounded like a mere hundred soldiers marching instead of 300,000. Their faces were grave, sombre, caked with blood and festering wounds, the aftermath of Berlin. When their eyes met, the dull throb of exhaustion and worry resonated in their bones, fatigue and hopelessness like a bitter elixir that would save and kill them.

Prussia stood at attention before the Allies, head up, chest out, shoulders back, gritting her teeth silently as they discussed the possible occupation strategies, tossing barbed comments nonchalantly regarding marshal law and mass graves. It curled into her heart like talons but this draught was the price of a lost war. She bore it like she bore all else – with dignity; at least, what was left of it.

“How are the denazification efforts?” United Kingdom finally looked up from the maps, addressing Prussia.

“Underway,” she answered, at attention, “We are currently attempting to locate activists, militants and profiteers who are in hiding.”

“And Nazi literature?”

“Being gathered as we speak. To be burnt.”

“No, don’t burn them,” America interjected, looking up, “We’ll set up a committee to oversee whatever is confiscated. We’ll keep what’s useful as evidence and trash the rest once we’re done.”

United Kingdom nodded, crossing his arms. “Ah, of course. Book burning is a bit of an… extreme image to give the people. Perhaps a more subtle method of disposal.”

Prussia didn’t flinch. “Understood.”

United Kingdom eyed her warily, frowning at her undying discipline in the face of loss whereas America merely grinned, his expression tinted with amusement and perhaps a shade of darkness.

“Well, if anything, you Krauts sure clean up good.”

The corner of her lips twitched slightly but she said nothing.

Just then, the door to their command centre burst open, a bloodied man in a ripped Waffen-SS uniform hurtling to the ground after having been tossed against it. Prussia broke protocol then, head turned towards the soldier to a catch a glimpse of his face. She cursed under her breath.

“Fool,” she grounded out, “I told you to run.”

The American paratrooper who had accompanied him grabbed Germany by the shoulder and hoisted him up to stand. He looked like he’d been on the receiving end of a very brutal beating. She could see some of his wounds had been reopened. Still a little weak, it took him a minute to refocus his attention but the sight of the Allies made him glare with his one good eye and shove away the soldier, standing on his own, intending to wait at attention but the injuries he had sustained prevented him from even straightening his back. He coughed, grabbing a bloodied side with a hand. Her expression hardened when she realised he had been shot several times at point blank range. That must have been how they knew.

“So nice of you to join us,” United Kingdom’s voice was light. Germany scowled. America dismissed his paratrooper.

“We were just discussing denazification, which your brother here has been doing a frightfully good job of. Perhaps a bit too well? If interlopers are discovered in hiding, just like our dear friend Germany, rest assured that the penalty is hefty.”

“Understood,” Prussia forced out, fists clenched at her sides.

United Kingdom rolled his eyes. “Not the reaction I was looking for.”

America took this as his cue and, without looking up, gestured to one of the guards stationed at the entrance. He took the butt of his rifle and rammed it down on Germany’s calf, inducing a pain-filled cry as he crumpled to the ground.

“Under… Understood,” Germany said through gritted teeth, forcing himself back up on his feet. He swayed from side to side, knees wobbling now, but he’d had discipline beaten into him growing up and he relied on it to get him through this.

“Well now you’re here, I suppose we can much more smoothly decide on the Allied Occupation Zones,” United Kingdom spread out a map of Germany on the table. France stepped forward, scanning it with a frown, about to make a dry comment about the divisions but America was quicker.

“Now, I know you’re probably upset about a lack of a French sector, but you know that the decision didn’t lie with us. UK and I have been discussing secessions of some of our own zones in good faith, if you’re inclined to review them.”

As they began talking amongst themselves, Prussia glanced at Germany from the corner of her eye. He was rasping for breath, throat hoarse and rough and dry. Odd, she thought, how he had always been the stickler amongst the two, yet here they were, she in an immaculately pressed uniform and him in fractures.

“You were supposed to run,” she spoke in an undertone, undetected by the Allies.

“What does it matter,” Germany grunted in pain, clutching his bleeding side further.

“If you’d run like I told you to, they wouldn’t be talking about an occupation so soon.”

“Better to get it over with quickly than to prolong it.”

“ _Get it over with_ ,” she snapped her head towards him, voice rising, “The way you _swiftly_ engaged the Battle of Berlin?”

“Quiet,” he tried to hush her.

“What about the Colmar Pocket? Better to get _that_ over with, too? Never mind that place was a death trap with no cover and no—”

“ _That place_ was German territory now be _quiet_ —”

“And the Ardennes-Alsace Campaign, that wasn’t prolonged at all, was it? Wasn’t that your bright idea, too?”

“For god’s sake, will you ever shut up about Ardennes-Alsace!” Germany finally snapped, shouting at Prussia, alerting the Allies to their spat. “You weren’t exactly forthcoming about a defensive strategy!”

“Because a defensive strategy wouldn’t have worked! When you decided to wage war, who the hell do you think came up with the Blitzkrieg? _Göbbels_? Oh, sorry, that was just Kristallnacht.”

“Hah! You suggested the Blitzkrieg because you didn’t want to go through with it! ‘Strike hard and fast or not at all.’ I remember, Prussia. Just like I remember how you couldn’t _believe_ that I made it work. Not you, me! You were too damn scared to take any risks—”

“ _Scared!_ ”

“—constant insubordination, blocking my plans and ordinances—”

“Because they were all bad ideas!” Prussia roared, “I told you not to wage war, that we were still _recovering_ from your first mess—”

“ _My_ mess—”

“—didn’t listen! That it wasn’t the right time, the right means. I’ve lived longer than you, fought more wars, but you insisted on being so damned _stubborn_ —”

Germany let out a bark of dark laughter, narrowing his eyes. “You want to pull rank on me? Where was all that experience and power during Preußenschlag? Couldn’t even hold on to your own damn _state_.”

It cooled between them for a moment.

Prussia looked like she had just been slapped in the face, eyes wide and disbelieving and, damn it all, _hurt_. He had gone to a place they both knew was dark and wretched and cruel and he’d stabbed it with a knife and twisted the wound.

The rage kicked in.

“You fucking piece of—” Prussia lunged for Germany and punched him in the face, sending him careening back into a pillar with a cry. He growled, about to launch himself towards her but United Kingdom held him back just as America and France restrained Prussia. She struggled, far more violently than he did, fully intending to deliver Germany a thorough beating until she had broken all the bones the American soldiers hadn’t.

“God damned ingrate!” Prussia hissed, “Son of a _whore_. Who _gave_ you authority to lead? Who _made_ you into a fucking empire?”

“Authority to lead? You were the victim of a coup that I led! Me! You were as helpless and useless then as you are now and you still want to hide behind the excuse of promoting _my_ interests? I took your power from you! You didn’t give me anything! I guess we know for a fact now that a woman is as useless behind a gun as she is in the war room.”

Prussia thrashed against the Allies, trying to lunge at Germany again.

“I’ll fucking kill you if the Allies don’t, I’ll do it I _swear_. If you had _listened_ to me, we wouldn’t be caught up in this shit!”

“You _still_ want to play the all-knowing big sister? Then, I’m _your failure_ , Prussia. You can’t escape it.”

“Don’t lay the blame on me, horseshit. Your war, your _leadership_ , remember? You’re a big boy now so you’ve got to play the game.”

“Ironic that _you’re_ telling me to be the better man when you lead all my eastern campaigns.”

“Because as much of a goddamn _moron_ as you are, I don’t abandon my allies at any time unlike some of your fools.”

“Shut your mouth,” Germany countered hotly.

“Where’s your Hitler now? Fucking flambéed with a nice marinade of his brains—”

“ _Shut your fucking mouth_.”

They glared at each other, teeth bared, chests rising and falling as anger and adrenaline coursed through them. The Allies were about to break things apart for good when footsteps echoed in the room from behind the desk, calm and steady. Russia approached quietly, face half-hidden behind his scarf. He looked enlightened, like a haze had been lifted from his mind. His lips curved in a thin smile, words slow and calculated.

“Prussia is a woman?”

“A she-whore,” Germany spat, gaze unbroken. Prussia’s eyes narrowed at him.

Russia chuckled softly, tittering in amusement, as though the brothers – brother and _sister_ now – were a greatside show to accompany the Allied victory. He walked closer to her, eyes wandering along the imaginary lines and curves of her body that were hidden under her thick uniform. It was impossible to imagine a girlish figure underneath the boots and the jacket. Prussia’s face was rough and hardened and masculine, even if he – she – did also retain some rather delicate Germanic features, like the dainty curve of her chin and her lovely straight nose. The more he looked, the more becoming she seemed.

“Did you know?” Russia asked the Allies.

The Allies exchanged uncomfortable glances with one another, not particularly sure of the direction the conversation had taken and whether they liked it. France felt his heart clench with an icy chill but he kept his mouth shut. United Kingdom was the one to speak, conceding a reluctant, “… No. I just can’t imagine it to be true.”

He was right. One look at Prussia was all it took.

“Intriguing,” Russia said with a thoughtful smile, tapping his chin, “So very intriguing.”

He stepped directly in front of Prussia, grasping her by the chin to better inspect her though she never once looked away from Germany, glare still in full force. He studied her face and her tapering neck as it disappeared into a firmly starched collar, scanning lower before he released her. With a strong grip, he yanked the front of her uniform apart, causing the buttons to rip off in all directions. The Allies tensed at his action, completely dumbfounded, but neither they nor Germany could see what he saw.

White skin, marred by tender wounds and sprawling scars… and a tightly bound chest.

Delicately, Russia loosened the bindings, unravelling slowly with a smile that did not reach his eyes. He seemed excited in that quiet way of his. The moment he saw a hint of cleavage, he halted, pressing a palm against the flat of her chest and sliding it lower to skim the very top of her breasts.

The corner of her lips twitched slightly.

Russia noticed the little movement, smile widening slowly as he abandoned her chest and gently trailed lower. It took her completely by surprise, but she forced herself to remain indifferent when he grabbed her crotch and squeezed it. She staggered with the force of his grip but the Allies held her upright.

“Intriguing,” he breathed, “Prussia is a woman.”

A thousand thoughts raced through her head at that moment. Though she had stubbornly kept her glare trained on Germany throughout this façade, she snapped her eyes to Russia, defiant and determined. She thought she could not speak at first because her throat was rough and she was so _ashamed_ of this indignity, that her own kin hadn’t spoken out at this outrage, but the words were strong in her heart and her anger, her anger at _everything_ , gave her volume.

“Take me with you.”

The entire room erupted with flabbergasted surprise but no one’s shouted _what_ was as loud as Germany’s.

Russia’s smile turned into a mirthless grin and he released her crotch, tracing a slow index finger up along the centre of what breasts were bare now to her throat ( _where there was no Adam’s apple_ ) and cupped her chin, appreciating her forcefulness and her roughness and something inside him stirred at the thought that he could be given this, could mould and shape it as he wished, could _break it down_.

“Socialism or whatever shit,” her voice wavered once and only once, “Communism. I’ll fucking do it. Siberia and Marx and the Reds are better than this hell hole and a fuckwit who couldn’t even avoid being brainwashed by his own damned boss.”

“Who the fuck needs you,” Germany snapped, renewing his efforts to attack Prussia. United Kingdom tightened his hold on the man. “You’re nothing. You’re worthless. You’re nothing but a damned burden—”

“That’s enough, Germany!” France spoke over him, a dark expression on his face.

Germany glowered but fell silent.

“Yes… I think I will do that. I want Prussia,” Russia glanced up at America, “You may have the brother.”

“Now look here, we have to discuss—”

“ _Prussia is mine_ ,” Russia snarled, taking the Allies aback. His expression grew mild and sweet again, “You may partition the western portion as you see fit. This discussion is over. Come, Prussia, oh I’m sorry… _East_ Germany.”

A cold stare induced France and America to release Prussia and she immediately wrapped her jacket around her in a bid for modesty. Russia walked out of the room and, hesitantly, Prussia followed after him with a final uneasy glance to Germany. He was still scowling, angry and, dare she even think it, a little hurt, and that strengthened her conviction. She walked upright, inhaled slowly and disappeared out the door.

  

  

Prussia hadn’t returned to her own private residence since the war began, having stayed with her brat for most of its duration. It looked everything like a home in the middle of a war, cracked and dusty and, she noted wryly, looted to a noticeable degree. Silverware and antiques that had decorated the rooms were gone now, some smashed to the ground in a frenzied tussle. Nazi items had long since been taken care of, no doubt by the Allied soldiers who had marched through her city. Her liquor cabinet had been emptied, as were her food stores. She felt a small pang of unhappiness at that – she’d had some very good wurst stocked up for her return, as well as one of the finest batches of beer from Königsberg. No sense in worrying about it now. There was little to no vandalism, she noted with some surprise, and all the pictures that had been hanging on her walls were untouched.

Basically, nothing worth anything had been taken, food and drink besides.

She stepped further into the house with delicacy in her step, surveying what was left of it now. Carefully, carefully so as to not draw any attention _just in case_ , she made herself look around, almost dragging her feet at this point. The floors hid her secret. She couldn’t let anyone know about them. Rich mahogany parquet, that was what lined the ground, and it had looked exquisite once, under a Persian rug and polished to shining perfection. Now it was scratched and buried by rubble. No, she dragged her feet carefully, running her hands along the wall until… just there… near the mantlepiece…

She tapped her heel against a portion of the ground once, quietly, full of trepidation.

It wasn’t hollow.

 _Thank god_.

There was another secret compartment in the false bottom of her closet, but that was far too risky, too _obvious_ to hope for anything. She was afraid to even check lest she be detected, but the most important of her possessions were safe for now. If, in the worst case, her own home proved to be inhospitable, she’d have to smuggle them out somehow to an ally… if they existed. There had to be bottles of spirits and cigars stashes away around her home for use as bribery if no allies would come. Her shoulders sagged with a sigh, bringing a hand up to cover her eyes in dismay. She shouldn’t have been weak. None of this ever had to happen.

Footsteps echoed in her house and she felt a tingle run down her spine.

A boot crunched against broken porcelain, softly at first, but the noise grew until it was in the same room. She turned to meet Russia, who was inspecting the sole of his shoe.

“My, my, your house is surely a mess. This won’t do at all.”

“I… apologise,” Prussia said in an even tone, “I will clean it up immediately.”

“Hm,” Russia walked to her. Slowly, his gaze moved from her neutral expression to the picture frame she had mindlessly taken from the mantlepiece – a group photo that included her, Germany and the Panzer-Division Müncheberg. He plucked it deftly out of her hands and gave it a piteous expression.

“This won’t do. I can’t have you longing after your army and its people now, can I? It runs counter to demilitarisation, after all.”

 _Its people._ Prussia clenched her jaw, brow knitted in ire as Germany’s words rushed back to her. She nodded once, firmly. Russia graced her with a sweet smile and abruptly dropped the picture frame so that it smashed onto the floor, glass shattering completely. Her eyes followed it, tracing out the lines where glass cut apart the photograph and distorted the image of smiling faces, bruising the paper where she and Germany stood side by side. Her smile had been the widest, cocky and overconfident as usual. It had been one of her favourite divisions, small and undersupplied but tenacious as hell. Just the way she liked them.

“Gather them all and burn them.”

Prussia felt something inside her go cold.

“Surely,” she found herself saying without meaning to. She had to go on now; she had Russia’s attention. Prussia hesitated. “Surely I could send them off to the committee to oversee documented evidence of Nazi activity instead. There might be something here of worth to them.”

Russia raised his eyebrows and that made her feel small and anxious as he approached, looming over her like a shadow. Slowly, his lips curled into a lukewarm smile as he cradled the back of her head and pulled her closer so that they were almost nose-to-nose. She itched to shove him away in her headstrong manner but something about him seized her and made her stay her hand.

“Worth something to them… or to you?”

Prussia looked up at him, suddenly afraid, unable to speak.

It was quiet save his heavy breathing for the longest moment but then he chuckled.

“You’re more obedient than I had expected. It’s a little boring.”

He released her and readjusted his gloves, calling for someone who was outside the house. Prussia gripped the lapel of her jacket over her thundering heart, felt a chill run through her, _that smart bastard_. She was starting to get a glimpse of what she’d gotten herself into but there was no turning back. Prussia waited in silence as Belarus made her appearance, eyes narrowed on her as she passed a wrapped package to her brother, who accepted it with a smile.

“Get some of the men to take all the photographs from this house. Deposit it on America’s doorstep. Evidence collection,” he said disinterestedly. Belarus nodded wordlessly and left, shooting Prussia a final glare.

“My sister, sweet thing, she’s not happy to know that my new _friend_ is a girl,” Russia said, undoing the string of the package in his hands. “That the infamous Prussia is a woman! What news! But alas, one look at you…”

He shot her a meaningful look. Prussia instinctively braced herself. Russia shook his head, laughing softly as he walked to her and wrenched her arms away. He pulled her jacket off, its buttons already mostly gone. Though she struggled slightly when he tried to remove her shirt, one look from him was all it took for her to obey. Her loosened chest bindings were unwrapped completely and dropped onto the floor alongside the shattered picture frame.

Naked from the waist up, Prussia looked away, covering her breasts with her arms, red with shame.

Russia stepped back, head cocked to one side as he tapped his chin with his free hand, scanning her intently.

“Yes,” he said after a while, in appraisal, “Yes, this will do nicely.”

It was then when Belarus re-entered the house with a handful of soldiers. Alarmed, Prussia immediately tried to use Russia’s bulky frame to hide from view. The soldiers smirked amongst themselves, nudging each other and quietly pointing. Belarus, on the other hand, looked ready to commit murder.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Russia said to them, ignoring Prussia’s increasing distress, “Once you’re done with evidence collection, keep guard so that nothing _unbecoming_ happens while Prussia cleans up. I’ve inspected her body so when she comes back to me, _I will know_.”

The smiles were wiped clean off their faces. They nodded soberly. Russia brightened.

Without much thought, he tossed the open package in his hand onto a sticky pool of dark liquid in front of her empty liquor cabinet and made to exit. Halting midway through, he turned around and said, as though he had just remembered, “Silly me, I forgot. Those are your new clothes. Put them on and get to work.”

He left, Belarus sneering at Prussia before she followed after him.

Alone in the house with the guards, Prussia flushed completely, grabbing the package off the floor and darting out of the room to change as quickly as she could, unable to bear the sharp little comments and low chuckles the soldiers made as she picked crystal shards off the old work uniform with only slightly trembling fingers. The only thing separating them now was the strength of Russia’s threat and a segment of wall with a photograph of Germany proudly receiving his Iron Cross for the Luftstreitkräfte that would soon be taken down and forgotten amongst a sea of booklets and posters and files and reports and pictures of dead bodies and Nazi rallies with that swastika, that damned swastika, emblazoned on something in every single one of them.

Prussia felt the bitterness tighten in her chest as she held the work clothes before her with her shaking hands. It belonged to a dead woman. The stain on the front wasn’t the spilled wine, but dried blood, brown and caked and never going to wash out. She had been one of the Trümmerfrauen, Prussia knew, and after she buttoned on the shirt and long skirt, she felt in the pockets and wanted to break down and cry when a bloodstained yellow cloth star unrolled in her hand.

  

  

It was cold and smoky. All that could be heard was the constant moving of earth and rubble and steel as they sifted through the debris, wordlessly tearing down factories and ‘dismantling industry’ as it were. It was good, Prussia thought, good that Russia worked her hard. She didn’t think of anything as she strained to clear a heavy block of concrete from the site, focused on her task and nothing else. She knew that the other Germans, her people, were doing exactly the same. They didn’t have the leisure to think of warm homes and happy families. They couldn’t. It hurt too much.

She didn’t need to think of anything as she felt her fingers bleed from the weight of the block. Had she become so weak now? This was a menial task, dull and trivial and yet she struggled. It was sliding from her grasp, threatening to fall, but she pulled against it with all her might. She had no room to lick her wounds. She had no room to further burden her people. Their loss was far greater than hers ever would be. Their loss and their short lives meant more to her than a century of beer and a minute of relief and so she kept fighting against gravity, fighting to once again to become the pillar of strength and utility that she had always been. In her heart, in the centre of her being, her strength was not her own. It had never been her own. She tried not to think, but his face came to her and reminded her why she lived, why there was hardship and suffering, why she was dressed in the clothes of a dead woman, why she had to bleed until the blood ran thin and dissolved into salt and water. She gritted her teeth, praying those thoughts banished and threw her weight into her work.

A pair of hands joined hers on the block and helped push it along.

Their eyes connected. The man smiled.

With a heavy shove, they finally dislodged it where it had become stuck and it finally sat amongst the rest of the debris. While the man took a moment to catch his breath, Prussia touched his shoulder, let it linger before she left him to continue working.

Prussia would always remember but she would not think.

  

  

“Did you think I would not notice?”

Prussia looked up at Russia, too tired to be defensive.

“What do you mean?”

“Medical supplies,” Russia tossed down a sparse wooden box onto the table. Bandages and iodine and morphine rattled inside it, some of them hurtling out and skittering from the table to the floor. Prussia eyed them warily before glancing up at Russia.

“What about them?”

“They’ve been going _missing_ , Prussia.”

She sighed softly. “Look, I don’t know about any missing medical supplies. I work all day and come home to sleep. All I know is that I’ve been using what’s available to me here.”

She raised her hands and showed him her wrapped palms and fingers. Russia frowned at them, kneeling before her after a moment. He gently grasped her hands, held them tenderly. She exhaled slowly in relief.

“I am so pleased. You have the hands of a true socialist now.”

Prussia felt Russia’s grip tighten and he leaned in, placing his mouth by her ear and another hand on the back of her chair.

“But rest assured,” he said in a low voice, “If anymore of those supplies disappear, you will answer for them.”

“… Understood,” she managed, unsettled.

Russia stood to his full height, carelessly brushing his knees. He reached into his coat and produced a newspaper, tossing it alongside the box.

“Actually, I came to congratulate you,” Russia said, “11,100 factories dismantled already. I was most fortunate in acquiring you. You’re a hard worker.”

Prussia read the headlines, skimming through the article and picking up a few keywords. _Agrarian reforms_ stood out. Of course. What was a communist state without the good old sickle? It was a slight relief, however, to think that their work would finally be focused on the well-being of the people rather than whatever the hell they’d been doing since the war ended. With luck it would mean slightly less strenuous work, not just for herself, but for the others. She’d been kept on a short leash but she had _eyes_. Just as it had been with the Nazis, there was too little information making its way to her. She hated censorship. For now, she had no choice.

“It’s too bad about America, though,” Russia shook his head, clicking his tongue, “Here I thought we could be friends.”

“Is this about the timber?”

Russia scowled at her. He placed both hands on either side of the chair’s back and leaned in so they were only inches apart.

“I beg your pardon, but please repeat yourself.”

“Is… this about the…” Prussia found herself tongue-tied, stared down like that, “… the withheld shipments?”

“ _Whose_ withheld shipments?”

“…Ours.”

She looked Russia in the eye, still defiant and, hell, still crazy. She was asking for it, didn’t know why she said something like that, but he must have been _waiting_ for that very moment because, so very slowly, his lips spread into a grin and he laughed. He laughed. He started quietly but soon it was strong enough for his shoulders to shake in mirth. There was no trace of malice, as though he seemed… relieved. She remained silent, waiting for it to subside, feeling something in her tighten with anticipation. He eventually calmed down, half-sitting on the table as he regarded her with an oddly fond look.

“I wondered when that tongue of yours would return. It never left, did it?”

She looked at him uncertainly.

Russia smiled. “I am fully aware that our beleaguered Germans are, how shall we say, out of _touch_ with the rest of the Union and our vision. I acknowledge this. So you will be pleased to know that, once you are officially separated and joined with me and my little circle of friends, my leaders and I are inclined to grant you a… level of political freedom.”

Prussia stared up at Russia, eyes wide. She almost stood.

“Oh, yes. I’m not like you, Prussia. I’m not a cruel little Aryan despot,” Russia paused. “But you should know better than to mouth off at me.”

Prussia braced herself, waiting to be hit or punched or kicked.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Russia laughed softly. Prussia chanced a look at his face. “Not now, silly thing. Especially not now that I know you’re a woman! What on earth were you thinking, that I’d raise my hand against a woman. You’re going to have to _anticipate_ it. Tonight.”

Russia threw the end of his scarf over his shoulder and left, closing the door firmly behind him.

Still tense from the entire exchange, Prussia waited. She waited for what seemed like years, ears perked for the sound of his heavy footsteps to fade for good. She held her breath, waiting for the quiet to fall, waiting for the exact second the guard went off to take a piss in what was once a beautiful and lush garden. Lightning fast, she darted to the corner of the room and fished out a heavy bundle from the rubbish bin, re-covering it once she was sure nothing had fallen out of her package. With a quick glance around, she edged to the window, wordlessly including her own pack of cigarettes with the bundle before she dropped it into a pair of stiff, aching arms, cold with hours of waiting. She didn’t know who it was, and just as well, even if she had looked, he was already long gone.

It was about time Russia noticed, really. She had just been hoping it would have taken him a little longer.

  

  

Sweat trickled down her forehead and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. Under normal circumstances, she would have been glad for the heat, but the sun was a furnace that blazed on and cooked flesh wherever her skin was exposed. The rubble would not move quickly enough and she continued to work through the hours as men and women worked and rested. A pile in the middle of the street had become a pile on the sidewalk. It was admirable work in moving earth and stone, but a pile was a pile and as yet stood uncertain in its balance. While the others moved on, Prussia remained behind, warily eyeing their handiwork as it swayed and shuddered, wanting to know that their efforts had not been in vain. As she contemplated leaving, a rock – damned rock – crumbled away and began to send the heap sliding. She ran towards the largest block of granite and, with all her strength, held it up so that the rubble would not scatter.

Prussia felt the edges cutting into her fingers, making calloused skin break and bleed and she strained against the weight. Was she so weak now? She called out for someone to help her but there was no response. When she opened her mouth once again to shout, a scream cut the air chillingly and claimed the area in a horrifying silence.

She felt the tendrils of fear curl into her, cold and sharp, tightening around her throat and her stomach as disgust clawed its way through.

She struggled suddenly with the granite, losing her footing and falling onto a knee, holding it up with as much strength as she could muster. In the corner of her vision, she saw shadows of men that laughed their deep guttural laughs around crooked cigarettes and chapped lips. She heard again the screaming, the crying. How many men were there, and to how many girls? Red stained her vision and she felt her mind lose its focus. She prayed for a swelling of strength and was not sure if it came when suddenly the granite was gone from her grip and she was no longer crushed underneath its weight.

Prussia must have run towards the men because she was pulled back with a sharp jerk. She saw sombre eyes and a tight frown and tried to release the grip on her arm, to no avail.

“Don’t,” Poland hissed.

“They’re your men,” her voice didn’t sound like her own. “Tell them to stop.”

“I can’t.”

“ _Won’t._ And if you won’t, then I will.”

“Close your eyes,” Poland said in an undertone, no cheer in his voice.

“I can _hear_.”

“When your Wehrmacht marched its way through Europe, could you tell them to stop?”

Prussia’s lip trembled.

Complicated, _complicated_ thoughts and feelings ran through her mind and hurt her heart as she recalled lessons from hundreds of years past; of the spoils of war and the price of manhood. Insecurities bound her mouth; the sin of being a woman made her turn against her own kind a long time ago, leave them and their liabilities behind to drive forward with her ambitions. Humans were weak and fickle and cruel and she knew now just as she knew then ( _as she had always known_ ) that words meant little to those with vengeance. She wanted to tell Poland that she had told them to stop, but they wouldn’t have. They wouldn’t have.

“You closed your eyes,” Poland said, taking her by the arm and sending her away from the street as gunshots rang out in echoes and was followed by silence, “Close them again.”

  

  

When night fell, Prussia was cold and tired. She yearned for a nice, hot bath and to fall asleep by a fire but wood was scarce and she had to report to Russia for her punishment. She could think of a number of things he could do to her but she was exhausted to her very bones. She almost welcomed whatever Russia could come up if it meant turning in early.

Prussia let out a heavy sigh before she rapped on Russia’s door, greeting him warily. He smiled at her, hand on the small of her back as he ushered her in. His house was cold, but not _as cold_ as hers and it was a little bit of a comfort. She rubbed her hands to warm them up as he poured vodka into a glass on the table.

“Drink?” He offered. She accepted it with a grateful nod, sipping it slowly as it burned down her throat.

He poured himself a glass and drained it in a single shot. When he was done, he poured himself another.

“In light of your recent behaviour,” he said, staring at the bottle's label, “I have thought of something appropriate.”

Prussia’s lips thinned and she waited for it.

He smiled at her gently, topping up her glass with vodka and capping the bottle before he finally gave his ultimatum.

“Information dissemination.”

Prussia nearly did a spit take.

“Oh _come on_ ,” she complained immediately, exhaustion still bearing down on her but almost absent from her voice, “Propaganda! I’ll do _anything_ but that!”

“And that is the point,” he said, beaming. Russia set his glass down on the table and steered Prussia into the next room amidst her whining and she something inside her stretch and tighten painfully at what she saw. Stacked wall to wall was literature of all kinds. She wanted to smash Russia’s face in, a sentiment she had managed to suppress largely throughout his occupation. She had been doing so _well_. Violence was not a good idea.

“You’re not joking,” she said drily.

“Oh, you’ll do fine,” Russia squeezed her shoulder fondly, “Surely it’s better than cleaning the streets, no?”

Prussia stared into her glass, miserable with the thought that, _yes, cooping up with endless amounts of propaganda and paperwork was better than hearing girls cry for their mothers_ , and at the lack of a smart retort, Russia peered at her curiously.

“Something wrong?”

“Why bother asking,” Prussia said, “You know already.”

“Well, yes, Poland mentioned something or the other,” Russia hemmed and hawed as he tapped his chin. Prussia remained still and eventually Russia let out a breath, placing both hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him squarely. She looked at him warily.

“I think…” He said slowly, gazing at her face, “That you could be very beautiful if you weren’t so masculine.”

She snorted, looking away. He smiled.

Russia ran a finger along the curve of her jaw and threaded his fingers in her hair, cradling her cheek.

“Information dissemination is a good step. You need to break away from war mongering and all its _reminders_. Grow your hair, perhaps, into something more presentable. Stay indoors, listen to the radio, keep warm—”

“Die of boredom.”

“And there is that tongue I’ve missed,” Russia chuckled. “You have no right to complain, you know. I believe I’ve been rather kind about this.”

This.

Prussia’s lips thinned and her grip on her glass tightened.

“Sadly, you’re actually right about something for once.”

Russia’s response was a laugh, but the knowing look in his eye was what told her that he’d let that one remark slide. As he left to return to the kitchen, she squeezed her eyes shut and downed the vodka, wanting to get unapologetically drunk so that she could go on ignoring the voices if she kept working and working and not thinking and not thinking.

  

  

Prussia's steps were brisk as she struggled to keep up with Russia's long strides.

“Is it even _safe?_ ”

“I would assume so, there are about 5,000 workers in there now.”

Prussia was aghast. “ _German_ workers! And potentially without the appropriate safety equipment! There are already radium hot springs in Erzgebirge, who knows what other dangerous elements are in the area. The Uranverein had only so much equipment and not all of it suited to the kind of geography Erzgebirge has and – are you even listening to me?”

“Yes.” Russia paused. “A little.”

“This isn’t coal or gold,” Prussia argued vehemently, “You’re talking about _uranium_. Disregarding the 5,000 in the mines, there’s their family and other members of society that they interact with outside of work. Does radioactive leak mean anything to you? The Uranverein functioned the way it did for a reason.”

“Yes, as you’ve been insisting for the past hour,” Russia said wryly.

“You don’t seem to be acknowledging anything I’ve said!”

“Prussia, you’re under the impression that we’re thoughtlessly exploring a mine. In fact, we’re continuing the German nuclear energy project, what you call the, ah—”

“Uranverein.”

“Yes. That. We’re looking deeply into the research your physicists have already collated and we would indeed have engaged them as advisors and overseers but no matter how loudly and frequently calls for physicists have been, the response has been very lacking. Disappointingly so, in fact.”

Prussia was quiet for a moment, still walking alongside Russia.

“It can’t be helped. All physicists born between 1915 and 1925 are missing.”

Russia raised his eyebrows.

“Defection?”

“…Enlistment.”

“Ah,” Russia managed delicately, stopping in front of a lift and pressing the button. He turned to face her. “Still, my scientists do not lack in qualifications, if that is your worry. Rest assured, the uranium mines won’t turn into a labour camp. Honestly, I don’t know where you get these ideas.”

“Russia—”

He raised a palm to halt her. She fell silent.

“Under information dissemination, there have been proposals to include departments in television and radio broadcasting. It won’t be put into effect for some years, of course, but you will be in charge of them. Of course, it will be independent of the government and so you will be free to say what you want. Within reason, of course.” He paused, peering at her. “Are you pleased?”

Prussia hesitated. “If you’re changing the subject…”

“And that, I am not.”

“Well… I suppose…”

Russia brightened, cupping her chin and pressing a quick peck to her cheek.

“Excellent! While it is something to look forward to, these departments will only be functional by 1951, so I’m told. Aside from the usual duties, you will be expected to assist with other restoration work.” The lift dinged and the attendant inside opened the grille. “Now, if you will excuse me…”

Prussia took him by the arm. “Wait.”

Russia turned to look at her.

She hesitated. “The Ministry of Internal Affairs…”

“What about them?”

“They arrested a policeman. German.”

“Of course.”

“He’d seized a Red—” Russia raised his eyebrows and she stopped herself, expression darkening slightly as she rephrased the way she had been instructed to. “A… A man in the uniform of the Red Army who had raped several German women.”

Russia sighed.

“Do as you will. There’s been too much of that happening and far more important work to do than regulate arrests.”

“The man he arrested—”

“Deal with it however you want.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Russia made to leave.

“Wait!”

With endless patience, he turned around once again.

“The… The drunkenness of the Reds.”

“This a legitimate complaint that has been lodged?”

“Yes.”

“With your committees or mine?”

“Both,” Prussia hesitated here. “It is also a… private grievance. It is not so much the brawling but the conduct when…”

Russia smiled and she said nothing more. “You are honestly the only person I know with the gall to speak to me like this.”

Prussia’s throat became dry but she didn’t budge.

“That is an issue we try to address as often as we can but, as you are well aware, the disciplining of soldiers without a war to fight is a near miraculous feat. Furthermore, regardless of the proposals I make to the commanding officers, whether they heed my suggestions or not is another matter altogether. I make no promises but I must say that it is not wholly the fault of my boys. The proliferation of spirits in Germany is quite breathtaking, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Prussia breathed, despondent, “Thank you.”

The grille closed with a jarring _clang_ and Russia descended three floors down.

Prussia sighed. She had indeed become bolder of late. She was so frustrated. As the months passed, dissatisfaction gnawed at her to the point that all she could was throw herself into work so that she need not think about it. And, odd as it seemed, in her own home that was clean and livable now that she had taken the time to restore it in order to convert a portion of it into a makeshift office she seemed even more tired and worn out doing paperwork than she had ever been out there amongst her people, pushing rubble along to clear the streets. She barely went out to mingle as she once had. Being cut off from her own people hit her really hard.

Sometimes, she tried to sneak out. She always got caught. Russia had supplied her with an altogether new wardrobe and, with her physical features, she stuck out like a sore thumb. When she looked out the window, some of the men recognised her and she always felt a little touched to see them perk up and brighten, like they were _glad_. She longed to be among them, to talk to them and share her abundant supply of cigarettes with them to reprieve them from the long hours of labour. It was so difficult to see them huddled in a corner, hunched over and wheezing through their words because there wasn’t enough food or water to go around since rationing had been tightened.

How many years had it been now since the end of the fighting? One? Two? It felt like the war loomed large over them and regardless of how much they worked themselves to the bone, it was a shadow that haunted their every step. The fighting never truly ended, still fought with words and bullets and violence and blood, only now they didn’t have the bullets to fight back with and so they took and took and took and they could not complain and if they did it mattered little to a nation of invaders who had come to take back what was now theirs and to seize and seize and _seize_.

She thought then, suddenly, of her little brother. How was that moron doing? He was such a thorough idiot, so young and stupid that he’d always be led by the nose. He grew up so quickly, so much faster than she or any of the other old nations had, and she wondered – nay, _hoped_ that those muscles weren’t just for show. Quixotic though he was, she knew that he was damned stubborn, almost as stubborn as Prussia. She prayed his stubbornness would keep him from turning into a puppet nation with no feelings and no pride and no identity.

A prickle of hurt throbbed then. What did she care? He was out of her hair. He _wanted_ her to go. What had he called her, a she-whore?

… She didn’t _hate_ him. Couldn’t, try as she might. If he crawled on his arms and knees, hell if he even just looked at her with that stupid kicked puppy look he had and apologised, she’d sulk a bit but things would be okay again. She’d changed his proverbial diapers, what the fuck else could you expect? She… Well… Prussia _missed_ that stupid, stupid idiot. First she wanted to punch him in the face (he probably had muscles there that could take it) and then she wanted to hug him and tell him she’d forgive him if he treated her like a goddamned queen from then on and even if he didn’t really she wouldn’t give a fuck. Even if he didn’t apologise, if he looked her in the eye and _looked_ like he wanted to, like he _meant_ to (because who the hell was she kidding, Germany had the emotional prowess of a rock on steroids), even if he invited her for a fucking beer like it was _nothing_ , even if he decided to pretend all that shit hadn’t happened…

Prussia squeezed her eyes shut, fingers in her air as she pressed her forearms down over her ears, trying to shut everything out. She wasn’t going to think. She wasn’t going to think. How many times had she decided that she wasn’t going to think? She had a meeting to go to. She needed to go now. She could not, should not think.

With a deep breath, Prussia straightened up and tried to neaten her appearance. She raked her hair with her fingers – so long now that the sides reached her chin and her bangs brushed low over her eyes – and realigned her skirt so that the seams were straight on either side. She had to get a hold of herself.

Today was important. So important. _Your committees or mine_ had never meant anything beyond _Germans or Russians_. Today she would finally be meeting with the men who would lead the Germans into a new administration. Things weren’t going to be low-key anymore. As much as she enjoyed helping the people on the ground, she was a _nation_ and as such her place demanded more import, more information than was being spoon fed to her like she was a _child_. Bitterly, she remembered the thing, the one thing that she found difficult to forgive Germany for, and that was the revelation that she was not a man. She felt like the day she shed her chest bindings and replaced her trousers with skirts, the respect she once commanded disappeared like a cloud of smoke in the air, never existing beyond a mere illusion of esteem. Did they forget, she wondered, who it was who taught them all what an army was supposed to be like? Who created the modern militaries that they so flagrantly threw at one another in a bid for might? The Kingdom of _Prussia_. None of that was an illusion. She would never let them forget.

Prussia walked briskly along the long corridors and out into the open, for what felt like the first time in a long, long time. It was mild weather, thank god for that, and the meeting hall was not too far. She had a letter of introduction and Russia as well as some members of the Ministry of Internal Affairs would attend towards the end to initiate her into the whole political process. She was ready for this.

Turning a corner, she saw the building. She entered, nodding at the receptionist who tried not to stare at her. Prussia shot her a cocksure grin, one that, if she recalled, often made women weak in the knees. The sudden blush on the girl gave her confidence.

A she-whore, was it?

…Ha! That mouth. Must’ve gotten it from her. Bastard boy.

“…quickly turned into an anti-communist and anti-Soviet demonstration. At the conclusion of the open discussion, the fascist mood reached its highest peak. We won nothing and we lost a great deal. I do not think further women’s gatherings in Hermsdorf will prove useful by any means.”

“Thank you, Mr Koch. A most informative report. Let’s see… Mr Heinrich Hoffman from the SED, if you will.”

“I know I have brought this topic up before, but I simply must reiterate. Party meetings after dark are impossible. The growing insecurities among the people are detrimental, and whose support are we supposed to rely on when rallies are unattended? We sold 2,300 admission tickets to the celebration of the Russian revolution in Weimar but only 600 people showed up because the word went round among the people: On the revolution day, the Russians would be out of control. How are we supposed to compete with these rumours?”

“I tell you, we’ve got to establish socialism in Germany without the Red Army and, if necessary, even against the Red Army.”

“Please, what talk! Mr Ulbricht has done as much as he can to—”

“As much as he can? You KPD boys are all the same! At the first reception given by Marshal Zhukov, at least the SPD spoke thoroughly about the issue!”

“We cannot always be scared and only look on!”

“Fechner, despite your bravado you never even mentioned _that word_ to the Russians.”

“Gentlemen, we are going off-topic.”

“Did you know about rising numbers of abortion?”

Disapproving murmurs rose in volume.

“Paragraph 218 clearly _bans_ the handling of drugs used for aborting foetuses.”

“And indeed that is right!”

“Do you not understand? Doctors perform them regardless of the law because of increasing rates of _pregnancy_. What, pray tell, is the cause of _that_.”

An immediate hush fell.

“German boys making up for lost time, surely.”

“With lack of food and drink and alcohol and chocolate and cigarettes, there is little desire among the miniscule number of German boys for intercourse!”

The main speaker yelled over the sudden influx of noise. “Nonsense! Abortion is intolerable and I have already put out a circular addressing this issue and we have instituted policies regarding this matter, which is a topic no longer up for discussion. Ms Zetkin, I expected more from you!”

“Banning abortions altogether is _disastrous_ , Mr Ulbricht, as I have mentioned before, women clamour at hospitals at various stages of miscarriage due to self—”

“Enough!” The shout silenced the room. “Members of the floor, we must return to the topic at hand! Mr Hoffman was addressing the convening of party meetings and said that they should not be done at night due to underlying insecurities amongst the public.”

“Doubtless we must speak once again to the people, security also…”

Prussia felt overwhelmed.

What was she getting herself into?

There were problems. Oh yes, there were problems. Lack of food and shelter was one thing, but abortions and security was something else altogether. She felt alarmed for these people, for were these not German communists? And did she honestly just hear anti-Russian remarks? They were hellishly lucky that she had come earlier and alone and lest they slip up even more she had better tell them to keep it quiet before her companions arrived. Taking a deep breath, she cleared her throat loudly. She was ignored the first time but on the second time, a bespectacled man sitting at the main table pressed both palms on the table, stood and shot her an irritated glare.

“Yes, may we help you, miss?”

Prussia’s eyes narrowed but she kept her tone even. She lifted her letter up so that it could be seen, ignoring the attention she was getting.

“I was sent here to sit on the committee by the Ministry of Internal Affairs.”

The entire room tensed, suddenly recalling their arguments from before. She could see the panic in their eyes and quickly moved to allay their fears.

“I’m a German independent.”

Immediately, there was relief but just as quickly the suspicion in their eyes grew. She felt uncomfortable and walked up to the main table where empty seats had been set aside for their guests. She passed her letter to the bespectacled man – ULBRICHT read nametag on the table – and he read it with a frown that grew ever deeper. When he was done he set it down and removed his glasses, eyeing her with deep distrust.

“What is this nonsense?” He asked quietly with restrained anger in his voice, “Do you expect me to believe these… fairy tales?”

“I wouldn’t know what your definition of a fairy tale is.”

“You have no idea what sort of sacrifices we are making and you come here to belittle our work? With this… this forgery?”

“I assure you, that letter is no forgery,” came a soft, Slavic voice that startled the room. Ulbricht scrambled to his feet and his colleagues followed suit. They mumbled Russia’s human name like it was some sort of protective mantra and the distaste Prussia felt was partly anger and partly envy.

“Adjourn the conference. The High Committee needs to have a private meeting with myself and your nation representative.”

  

  

Prussia allowed Russia to do all the talking, which was great because she had been very close to socking Ulbricht in the mouth. She had once kicked Old Fritz in the head for making fun of her horse and punched Otto in the gut for… laughs, to be totally honest. Ulbricht would be nothing in a fight even if she wasn’t wearing any trousers. Her left hook was still dangerous. Even if she had become weaker, she was relatively certain she could punch through a wall.

“So you are saying that _nations_ as people exist? Truly?” Ulbricht wiped the sweat from his brow, incredulous. “The evidence is compelling, I admit, but you must understand that—”

“Yes, well, humans do have a terribly short comprehension on things like time and lifespan,” Russia chuckled. “Nonetheless, Prussia has been a fixture in history for centuries past and it would be remiss to exclude such an important member of this administration.”

“Yes, of course.” Ulbricht turned to Prussia, “Forgive my earlier rudeness. I was… under duress.”

Before Prussia could reply, Ulbricht stood and clapped his hands together.

“Well! If you would be so kind to introduce us to Prussia, Mr Braginsky, my comrades and I will be delighted to brief him on current issues and, well, get to know each other better.” He and his committee members eyed the tall, suited men behind Russia with curiosity. Russia and Prussia exchanged glances briefly.

“You’ve already met.

“Yes, surely, but we have yet to speak.”

Prussia had a bad feeling about this. Quietly, she raised her hand to catch their attention.

“Hi.”

Ulbricht didn’t seem to understand at first.

“… I’m Prussia.”

One, two, three, and it clicked. The men froze, eyes widening, something akin to horror in their expression as they sized her up, glanced at each other. Ulbricht’s face was unreadable as he stared at her, straightening his back and removing his spectacles to wipe. She could see the wheels in his head turning as he took his time, refusing to look at anything else but his spectacles. After a moment, he replaced the spectacles on his face and nodded, mouth curved downwards grimly. He clasped his hands behind his back.

“I see.”

I see?

That was _it?_

She was _Prussia_ , the fucking thing they were living on. She was their history. She was their everything. And they were _unimpressed?_ Prussia clenched her fists, mortification, anger and humiliation twisting inside her and threatening to come out in a scream. She could barely speak, eyes starting to water. This was almost as bad as when she and Germany had…

“Prussia.”

She snapped her head up, eyes narrowed. Russia had spoken.

“What?” She asked him, voice rough.

“Your name,” he said, glancing at the men. She frowned.

“It’s Prussia. What? Oh.”

She took a slow breath and exhaled in a sigh, shaking her head. She crossed her arms.

“You can call me Gilbert Beilschmidt, if you’re weird about the whole Prussia thing.”

The men exchanged glances. God, she hated it when they did that.

“Um… Ms Beilschmidt,” Ulbricht said carefully, “Surely you have a more… appropriate alias?”

“ _Ha?_ What’s wrong with Gilbert? It’s a good, strong name.”

“Yes, well, you see…”

Russia laughed softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. Prussia glared at him.

“They’re right, Prussia. Your appearance is ill-suited to the name Gilbert.”

Prussia slapped his hand away, shaking with rage.

“I’ve used that name for 800 years. _800 years_. In all those years, not once has it been a problem. Not once! It wasn’t a problem when the Teutonic Knights ordained me and there is no reason for it to be a problem now. Discussion over.”

Russia smiled, unfazed, even in light of her hot temper and the uneasiness of the German and Russian politicians in the room. Instead, he casually reached into his coat to remove a book, holding it up pointedly for the others to identify. Nothing happened for a while. They simply stared at it with puzzlement, unsure as to the nature of the book. All they knew was that it looked very, very old.

And then, something did happen. Realisation dawned. Prussia’s eyes widened and she paled. She strode at first but then broke into a run, rushing to Russia, trying to snatch it out of his grip. He was damnably tall and the people from Internal Affairs were ruthless and quick and suddenly it took all of four men to hold her back as she struggled and thrashed and yelled at him with panic in her voice.

“You didn’t. _You didn’t_.”

“Oh, but I did,” Russia said, smiling that harmless smile of his. He cheerfully opened it to where it had been bookmarked with a tattered blue ribbon. He ran a finger down the page and cleared his voice.

“26 February 1732. It is a fair Saturday and the winds are mild in Küstrin, a great day for riding to the main palace to see how the king was faring. As I was settling in, that silly boy nearly broke my palace west wing door down in disdain and the court smith will have to repair the hinges. He finally met his fair Elisabeth Christine in the flesh, who is neither intelligent nor beautiful so he claims. Just dull and obedient and stupid. Not like you, he cried, clutching at my breast and weeping before he pushed me down to kiss my—”

“STOP PLEASE STOP.”

Russia paused. He shot her a knowing look and, without breaking the gaze, turned to the next page.

“He is so handsome, I find, unlike his father or his grandfather. He looks at me with young eyes as we lay in bed, and they twinkle like there is stardust in there somewhere, and they seem to worship me like a goddess as his honeyed philosopher’s tongue whispers the name _Gillian_ like it is a prayer when he presses flush into me and long after as we lay down side by side in bed. I find myself loving that name. I am his Gillian.”

Russia snapped the book shut, the sound loud, so loud in the utter stillness of the room. There was disbelief. She had stopped struggling and the men had gradually loosened their grip on her until they were no longer in contact. In that moment, she felt completely alone. The room was engulfed with shame at the knowledge of something so private and shock at the legitimacy of hearing something from 300 years in the past, written in an old and classical tongue.

Prussia’s lips trembled.

“In conclusion,” Russia continued on, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, “I believe it is quite appropriate for us to reclaim the name ‘Gillian’ as an alternative and more gender- _correct_ alias for Prussia. Yes, Gillian Beilschmidt; has a sort of ring to it, doesn’t it? And not too far away from Gilbert – in spirit. It’s decided. I think there will be nothing further at this juncture. You are all dismissed.”

The response was prompt. The men murmured their farewells and quickly made themselves scarce, as though expecting an unwanted incident and wanting to be thoroughly uninvolved. The door shut behind them, leaving Prussia and Russia alone together. She wanted to slap him. She didn’t.

“You _read_ them,” Prussia whispered, vision blurring out of focus as tears threatened to fall.

“Correction, I read _this_ ,” Russia said, patting the diary, “It’s no secret that you archive these things, god knows why you would. I’ve seen your little library, of course. You hid it very well. I also saw your little trinkets and trophies in there and, well, I decided to be kind and refrained from mentioning it to my subordinates. History is precious, that much is obvious. But _this_ , ah, this gem, this wasn’t with the others.”

Russia stepped towards her, lifting her chin up gently and wiping away her tears.

“I suppose you had thought to hide them in plain sight, putting this in the false bottom of the closet in the room you lend to _me_ of all people. You gambled this one and lost, dear Prussia.”

Prussia grabbed the diary and shoved him back, furiously rubbing her eyes with her palms.

“I never would have guessed that there was such tenderness underneath that veneer of a bloodthirsty warmonger.”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Prussia hissed, crying angry tears, “ _How could you_.”

Russia smiled.

  

  

If there was one thing that gave Prussia solace, it was Russia making good on his word. The days of mettle and honour were long past, in the cracks of time where the olden gods reigned over their chivalrous knights and their fair maidens with their fairer maidenheads, and where someone’s _word_ was a sacred bond of truth and integrity. Once, a casual comment was as lawful as a treaty. Once, she did not have to fall back on dread and desperation at being manhandled by a liar. Once, she was great enough to put that liar in his place.

But this was the very reason why it was significant.

Russia had promised her political autonomy. He delivered just a little more than that.

After the disaster that had been her first meeting with her politicians, Prussia had given up all hope of ever being in any position of authority. If they had believed her a _man_ , the outcome most certainly would have been different. They would have been putty in her hands, twisted around her finger, completely done in by her roguish charm and outlandish attitude. It was difficult to let go of her bitterness but Prussia tried her hardest to, because every moment spent agonising over what could have been contributed to the mountain of feelings vindicating Germany for his accidental betrayal (and it _was_ an accident, it just _was_ , and she could forgive him for it, could forgive him anything). Germany was a fool and a boy. He never would have intended this hell for her to brave (and if he did she would not know, would not let herself know, would not be subject to that act of cruelty).

Prussia was a woman. However much she wished she could change that fact, she couldn’t. She would have to make do. Russia had codified her manners and appearance since his occupation, a matter in which she had no choice since she had _requested his occupation_ over that of the others, and as such it included a new (ha! Could it even be called ‘new’?) wardrobe that reflected her as he wanted her to be seen. Old suits, long skirts, none of them suitable beyond slogging through rubble and coal in her opinion, but most importantly, clothes for _women_. For the meeting, she had spent hours scrubbing out the stains from one of the cleanest and most appropriate suits that she had been given, but even that looked ratty in comparison to those worn by the others. She seethed privately. She missed her smart uniforms and, god help her, _shoe polish_.

As she tapped her pen against the sheaf of papers she was supposed to censor on the table, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

To her surprise, Walter Ulbricht entered and quietly shut the door behind him, his hat in his hands.

“Good morning.”

“…Morning.”

“May I sit?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you.”

Ulbricht cleared his throat, adjusting his spectacles as he sat opposite Prussia, finally allowing himself to scan around the room.

“If you want tea or something…”

“I am fine, thank you.”

Prussia set her pen down and leaned back in her chair, waiting expectantly.

“Your, uh, your place is very nice,” Ulbricht said, “I wasn’t sure what I’d…”

“You thought I lived in personal a palace, didn’t you?”

Ulbricht cleared his throat. “Yes.”

“At least you’re honest,” Prussia snorted. “In the past, I lived in whatever palace I was needed at, with a personal wing to myself. It was important for the duke-elector-king-whoever to know immediately if there was anything wrong with me so that they could plan appropriate counter-measures. Plus, the older I got, the more experience I’d wracked so I was there if they needed advice. Sometimes, they just wanted someone to get drunk with.”

Prussia paused. “After Otto, I decided to get a place of my own. Seemed right.”

Ulbricht’s expression changed. “… von Bismarck?”

“Yep, that guy.”

“You were on a first name-basis with…”

“Otto. Ludwig. Johann. Fritz. Nearly all of them. I half-raised most of the tykes who ended up on the throne. The ones who _really_ annoyed me, I called by their most embarrassing nicknames. It was great, should’ve seen the looks on their faces. You can’t exactly execute your own country, can you? Especially back then when everyone was superstitious and believed anything hokey.”

“Ah.”

“You’d think that they couldn’t respect the person who played tag with them and vomited all over them during hangovers, but they did. I guess they thought I was like their dad’s dad or something.”

Ulbricht’s expression was reserved, very careful.

“Not everyone felt this way.”

“Well… no, I guess not. I don’t have the most responsible face. But I am damned good when it comes to target practice. Sometimes I guess I was more like a brother – at least once they got old enough to learn how to wipe their own…”

Prussia trailed off, slowly making eye contact with Ulbricht who was looking decidedly grim and perhaps a little guilty. She closed her mouth and thought on it for a moment. It came to her. It didn’t give her an ounce of cheer.

“You’re asking about the diary.”

Ulbricht shifted in his seat. “Not really asking, more… curious.”

“I wasn’t aware that this was a social visit.”

“This is exactly that, actually.”

“Is it. Would think a man of your calibre would have more pressing matters.”

“I would like to think that getting to know my nation is that very thing.”

The corner of Prussia’s lips twitched. Damned politicians. Always had a sore spot for them.

“I counted back… The king at the time was Friedrich Wilhelm and the boy’s fiancée was Elisabeth—”

“Elisabeth Christine.” Prussia nodded.

“Yes.” Ulbricht glanced at her. “Which meant that you were… having an affair with Friedrich the Great?”

Prussia grinned slightly at that and, strangely enough, it made Ulbricht feel calmer, even though he was still somewhat scandalised at the thought that the person sitting before him had been a king’s paramour 300 years ago. He was still having trouble wrapping his head around that figure.

“Is that really fair? It’s really not like I’m technically human or can conceive.”

“That’s not quite the problem,” Ulbricht replied drily, filing that fact away to ask about later.

“Well,” Prussia’s tone was sly, “You certainly cannot deny that the man loved his country.”

Ulbricht groaned. Prussia laughed, and for the first time in a long time, it was a relief to be able to _mean it_.

“All those theories on his homosexuality—”

“Oh, Fritz was _very_ heterosexual.”

“Ms Beilschmidt…!”

“I’m… half-joking. I don’t think there was a single maid in Küstrin unsullied by Fritz’s rogue charms. I think they used to call him ‘debauched’.” Prussia’s grin widened fondly. “But I’ll have you know that he was special. He did an excessive amount of begging and pleading before I gave in to him; even then, he was the only one.”

“But that means the man people presumed he was bedding—”

“Mystery solved.”

“You were that man. After all this time, it was you.”

“Are you _upset?_ ”

“No! I just… I cannot believe that something that hasn’t been known for 300 years is…” He halted, looking at her with a mix of awe and frustration. “What _else_ have you done that we suspect you of?”

Prussia sighed, picking up her pen and twirling it with her fingers.

“Look, much as I appreciate your interest – and let’s face it, I don’t appreciate it _that_ much – I’ve gotten away with a lot of crap. A _lot_ of crap. I’ve got a library’s worth of records on the things I’ve done and it’ll take you years to get through it so my advice is to just… try not to let it bother you. If something comes up in casual conversation, I may elect to address it. Likely that I won’t if it’s damned personal. The only reason you and I are having this conversation is because you already heard the dates and the names from that giant _asshole_ but, honest to god, the 1700s is something I’d rather keep private because…” Prussia’s expression fell briefly. “… it’s not something I’ll ever be able to get back.”

They fell quiet for a moment. Prussia stood up and said she’d make some tea after all.

Once they had settled themselves again, Ulbricht spoke again.

“The name Gilbert…”

Prussia knitted her brows, feeling nostalgic. “800 years.”

“You got away with being a man for 800 years?” Ulbricht frowned, shaking his head in disbelief, “That… Surely…”

“Oh yeah, don’t think for even a second that it wasn’t hard.”

“As a child?”

“Especially as a child. I’ve kept my hair short since the Crusades and throughout the years as a margraviate and kingdom, up until the end of the war. France would be up in arms about how unfashionable the length of my hair was but fortunately I had the Teutonic Knights as an excuse. Over time, he gave up on me. Nations don’t age at the rate of humans, naturally. It’s not a gradual process. Countries swell. When they do, we experience a sort of physical spurt. Puberty was the most difficult years of my life – for completely different reasons than what you’d ordinarily expect.” Prussia sighed. “I’d been affecting a lower register for about 350 years. My throat feels so relieved now that I don’t have to do it anymore, but I have this slight cough that won’t go away.”

“Your physique—”

“Binding. Padding. Armour. Backhands. Unsubtle threats. Nearly murder, several times.”

“I cannot even begin to imagine,” Ulbricht said gravely, and Prussia decided that he was a grave sort of man. “Was your sex unacceptable for that of a nation? Taking your… dalliance with Friedrich the Great into consideration. He surely knew you were a woman.”

“It wasn’t that,” Prussia said, “Everything was just… easier.”

“Indeed.”

“I’d forgotten how difficult it was to be a woman,” Prussia gave him a grim little smile. “Not a day goes by that I don’t long for the name Gilbert again.”

“Surely things have changed.”

Prussia laughed, shaking her head. “Walter, if I could turn myself into a man in this day and age, I would do it in a _heartbeat_.”

Ulbricht set his teacup down. “If you had hidden yourself for 800 years, how did it come to be known now?”

“An accident,” Prussia said emphatically, convincing herself more than she was Ulbricht. “Nothing more and nothing less.”

He sensed that she didn’t want to speak on the topic further and allowed conversation to die as they finished their tea.

“So,” she finally said afterwards, “Have you gotten all the answers you wanted?”

“I must confess that was a more private agenda.” Ulbricht turned to reach for his briefcase, feeling inside it for a brown paper package that he then passed to her. She accepted.

“I was unforgivably rude to you, I must apologise. You were kind to allow me into your house and indulge all my questions. I admit, Ms Beilschmidt, I still find everything… difficult to believe, but the letter of introduction Mr Braginsky wrote to the SED is very genuine and very flattering. Having spoken to you personally, I know that your experience is invaluable in our efforts to establish a new, free state and so… this is a gift. I hope you will view it as such.”

“This was an interview?”

“You may call it what you’d like. The others are inclined to think so.” Ulbricht adjusted his spectacles again. “I just… wanted to know who you were.”

“I’m your country,” Prussia said a little more hotly than anticipated.

“You’re indeed something else,” Ulbricht admitted, not unkindly, and for the first time, Prussia saw him smile. He placed his hat on his head and opened the door, giving her a firm nod.

“Goodbye, Ms Beilschmidt.”

“Goodbye.”

The door closed behind him as Prussia opened the package. It was a navy skirt suit, more modern and fashionable and appropriate and _new_ , and on top of it, a binder was enclosed, with newsletters and itineraries and circulars and a typed letter at the very top informing her of the coming month’s schedule. She stared at everything in her hands for a few minutes, letting it sink in, and then she broke into a wide grin.

  

  

Prussia received this letter four months later:

> _Ms Gillian Beilschmidt,_
> 
> _In light of your experience and contributions, particularly with regards to women’s interests, we would like your input regarding the participation of women and suggested activities during and after party meetings. Additionally, due to a surge of petitions on the sensitive social matters that we have forwarded to you, we are arranging a public forum on the topic of Russo-German relations with the local universities by early autumn. You will be notified further once a location has been confirmed. Should you have keynote speakers to recommend, please inform the secretariat._

  

  

  

**About ‘the Russians’ and about Us**

  


> The SED had become a mass party, and there was simply no way to stop the nasty talk about the Soviets among its 2 million members. According to the GDR historian, Wolfgang Schneider, the SED was especially upset about the “still passive attitude toward the Soviet Union” in the working class. As a result, at the end of 1948 the SED leadership decided to “take the offensive” against these “anti-Soviet” attitudes among the masses by confronting them publicly. The political motivations for this offensive must also be seen against the background of events in the communist world as a whole: the beginnings of communist-bloc “discipline” in the Cominform (September 1947), the Czechoslovak coup (February 1948), the Cominform resolution against Tito (June 1948), and the simultaneous acceleration of cold war tensions and of Stalinization in Eastern Europe. The Soviets themselves agreed that holding such discussions was important and “progressive.”
> 
> The discussions were inaugurated on November 18, 1948, by the editor of _Neues Deutschland_ , Rudolph Herrnstadt, in his article, “About ‘the Russians’ and about Us.” The main Soviet occupation newspaper, _Tägliche Rundschau_ , reprinted the article “because it deals with the decisive questions of the fate of the German people.” The intense passions and debates aroused by Herrnstadt’s article led the Berlin branch of the Society for the Study of Culture of the Soviet Union (later, the Soviet-German Friendship Society) to schedule an open discussion of the article on December 10, 1948, in the large hall in the society’s House of Culture of the Soviet Union. An overflow crowd of some 700 people packed the auditorium. The discussions lasted for more than four hours in one of the most lively – and, until the fall of 1989, one of the last – open forums of its kind in the history of the Eastern zone. The intense interest in the subject led to the society to schedule a second session in an even larger hall on January 7, 1949, and to publish stenographic reports of both sessions.
> 
> Hernstadt opened the first public discussion with a lengthy restatement of his original argument from the article in _Neue Deutschland_. Because of the influence of the class enemy inside the party of the working class, the SED, he said, “a large portion of our party members” have an incorrect view that the Soviet Union is a “burden” on the development of the party program, rather than recognizing its true role, “namely [that of] an inexhaustible source of strength to the workers’ movement at every level of its struggle.” These party members, said Herrnstadt, do not understand that one cannot simply pick and chose [sic] the various attributes of socialism and of the Soviet Union. One must “either confirm the process [of revolution] as a whole, or deny it as a whole, as parts of it cannot be cut out.” Of course, Herrnstadt acknowledged, there are problems in the Soviet Union; nevertheless, “the person who accepts the Soviet Union can only do so as a totality.”
> 
> […]
> 
> Rather than speaking about rape directly, Herrnstadt chose to talk about the case of a German communist who was hit over the head and had his bicycle stolen by a Russian, which “determined his [negative] attitude towards the communists for the rest of his life.” According to Herrnstaft, this crime by a Soviet soldier – and indeed all crimes, including, by implication, rape – must be seen in the context of the Soviet struggle against fascism. The German working class did nothing, not even at the end, to help the struggle against Nazism. German workers even carried the Hitlerites’ bags to their cars as they fled! “How should the Soviet army have interpreted this attitude of the German people? … An active, capable working class did not exist.” So far as the comrade who had lost his bicycle (or, metaphorically, whose wife was raped, or who was herself raped) is concerned, he (or she) is no progressive at all.
> 
> […]
> 
> Professor Peter Steiniger picked up the discussion where Herrnstadt left off, criticizing the Germans for complaining about the terrible behavior of the Soviet troops … It was the German war that had turned the good Soviet into the wild soldier, he said. Those people who forced the Soviets into the whirlwind of war cannot now say “shame on the wild ones.”
> 
> […]
> 
> Alexander Abusch, editor of the Marxist journal _Aufbau_ , also took the podium, but he added little to the discussion. Like the other communist leaders, he publicly demanded that German men and women forget the rapes – which he too trivialized by equating them with stolen watches or bicycles – and get on with the class struggle, which meant the unadulterated, uncritical affirmation of the Soviet experience.  
> 

  


The Russians in Germany: A History of the Soviet Zone of Occupation, 1945-1949  
The Problem of Rape  
Norman M. Naimark

  

  

“ _Bicycles_ ,” Prussai said hotly, “He said to get over some _stolen bicycles_.”

It was a brisk morning in Berlin. What snow there was had melted the day before, leaving the streets glittering with iced over moisture. The outer city was subdued with a lethargic quiet, partially due to the weather but mostly due to the uncharacteristic gloominess that had befallen the masses gathered in Palais am Festungsgraben. People murmured amongst themselves though a number were talking heatedly. Of that number, Prussia was likely the most vocal.

“And a _knock to the head_ , did you hear the man? Do you think he was even _in_ Germany during the war?”

“Ms Beilschmidt, please, lower your voice—”

“What are they going to do, _knock me over my head?_ ”

Grim smiles and chuckles came her way amongst the throng of dark expressions. Prussia was itching to hit something, anything, and she was more than certain the others who had attended shared the same sentiment. Unlike the others, her surveillance was absolute; she was constantly in the company of the politicians who had decided that Germans were to keep their peace in order not to stir the pot and, heaven forbid, make the Soviets feel _uncomfortable_. Unlike the others, she didn’t care for the self-imposed restrictions of volume.

“Dwelling on the ‘one type of trauma’ is holding back the revolution, they said. The thing holding back the revolution is that disgusting, backwards type of thinking—”

“Ms Beilschmidt, _please_.”

“Do you think he actually had a wife, Heinrich? Or a sister, or daughter? Do you think he ever _feared_ for them?”

He opened his mouth, as though he wanted to say something, but she stormed through without a moment’s hesitation.

“I, for one, know of a certain man by the name of Robert Bialek who happens to be the humble police chief of Dresden. After his wife was raped and his sister almost nearly, _much, much later_ , once the SVAG thought he was someone _trustworthy_ , that was finally when the Reds thought they might lend a hand and keep her not-raped by stationing some military police near their home. Do you think Robert Bialek told his wife to _forget about it?_ ”

“Gillian, _shut up_.”

Prussia turned to meet the speaker, buttoned up in his coat and hat firmly pulled down over his head. He walked towards her furiously. She crossed her arms, eyes narrowed in response to the glare that was visible from behind his round spectacles.

“Walter, kind of you to be a sexist two-faced pig.”

“I told you to _shut up_ ,” he grabbed her by the arm and roughly yanked her away from the crowd that had begun to gather around her. He took long strides that she had to keep up with. Heinrich, her aide, half-jogged after them in a slight panic.

“I’ve done everything requested of me and more, you damned liar. I’ve filed paperwork, I’ve run messages, I’ve fucking made you _coffee_. _**Coffee**_. Because you and your little clubhouse have this silly little notion in your oversized heads that the difference in the ruling and thinking capabilities of an individual is determined by whether there is a _draft_ between their legs. Do you think you can play me like a _fool?_ Your ancestors weren’t even _born_ the day I sat down and helped Old Fritz write his book on warfare. I’ve been alive for 800 years and I’ve fought my own wars in the battlefield as well as in the beer halls and I’ve toppled countless _men_ time and time again. So if you even dare _think_ that just because of my overwhelming generosity towards you and your merry band that you can step all over me, you have something else entirely coming your way.”

“You are the one being _unreasonable_ ,” Ulbricht hissed, “ _You_ helped put this forum together. _You_ were the one who said that the solidarity of German women would come by putting this chapter of the occupation behind us—”

“Through closure, not denial, you old—”

“We are giving them closure! We are telling them that the future relies on their cooperation—”

“Closure comes from _confronting_ their problems, not from burying—”

“And yet here you are, going around with the cheek to _criticise_ our efforts with the forum by proclaiming long and loud about how we are—”

“For god’s _sake_ , Walter!” Prussia shoved Ulbricht away, glaring at him with such enormity that he felt like a force was bearing down on him and forcing him to his knees. He fought gravity to remain standing firmly with his fists clenched at his sides. He pointed a finger at her, jabbing in her direction angrily.

“You are out of line!”

“You’re a goddamned _moron_ ,” Prussia spat, “I am not your _tool_. I do not work for your party. Hell, I don’t even need to practice or believe whatever the fuck it is you expect me to. Lest you forget, I’m not _human_. I’m not _German_. I am the Germany _you live in_. I’ve had a boss who was uncontrollable before, full of hope and charisma and ideology and fat lot of good listening to him did me. If you think for even a second that I’ll obey you and help you rise to power, let me tell you now that it’s a fantasy born from your own delirious imagination. _You can’t touch me._ ”

“You agreed to assist us and we _are_ the ruling party, the ruling _government_ —”

“What fucking government?” Prussia snapped, “I don’t see a government and I don’t see a king or a duke or a prime minister or a president. All I see is Red.”

“The Soviets have empowered us—”

“And you’re going to frighten the rest of us into submission? I’ve gone along with all your plans to make Germany independent because that, _that_ is a _great_ idea. But telling mothers and daughters that nobody should care about their rape—”

“ _Do not say that word_ ,” Ulbricht snarled, “Can you even fathom how difficult it is to make a broken country move forward? With our demilitarisation and the dismantling of industry and now the goddamned fracas going on with the other Allies in the west, our people come back full circle to this topic and if we linger on it, the Soviets _will not take to it kindly_. Do you honestly think _addressing_ it will make things better? Can you tell me with absolute certainty that there won’t be a backlash and that they won’t ravage the country in retaliation?”

Prussia closed her mouth, eyes narrowing.

“You’re an excellent leader, Walter. But you’re a damned coward.”

A scream cut through the air.

It was a woman. Their anger left them and they whirled round, trying to find the source of it. She was crying, begging for her life and it suddenly dawned that, in the midst of their arguing, they had strayed far from the safer part of town. Police or military presence was a good distance away. This was turning out to be a terrible day through and through.

It was Heinrich who spotted them first, a hand shaking as he pointed at an alleyway. There were a group of men in the uniform of the Red army, easily a small squad, surrounding some women who had been backed against a dilapidated brick wall. There was their military presence. From a distance, Prussia couldn’t see much but there was a telltale glint of metal that meant that they had their guns drawn. Her expression darkened. She must have run towards them because there was a sudden yank that pulled her back and she was struck by a moment of déjà vu.

“There are too many of them,” Heinrich whispered fearfully, “They’ll kill us.”

“He’s right, Gillian. We need to call the police—”

“For fuck’s sake, Walter,” Prussia yelled, prying their hands off her, “Grow some fucking balls.”

Prussia rolled up her sleeves, stalking towards the men. As she approached, she could see a girl no older than 18 on the ground, dress ripped in shreds. Two other girls crouched behind her, clutching at each other and crying their eyes out. The Reds were sloppy in appearance; jackets buttoned up wrongly, shirts hanging out, collars askew, boots unlaced and caked in mud. There were bottles littered on the ground as well. Prussia could only assume they were alcohol.

“Fuck off, Petr,” she heard a man slur thickly in Russian, accompanied by the sound of a magazine clicking against the body of his Tokarev as he used his gun to gesture ‘Petr’ away.

“No.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’re _drunk_ , Kolya.”

“Don’t fucking call me that!”

“You need to put the gun down and return to barracks.”

“That an order?” The drunk sneered, “You _orderin’_ me, Kapitan?”

A resounding roar of laughter followed, “You ain’t even in our division!”

As she got closer, she could see a man in dress uniform with a knee on the ground between the women and the Reds. He had both hands on her shoulders, holding her protectively as she clutched his chest and sobbed quietly, eyes wide open and trained on the men. In spite of the mockery, he held them with a pensive look on his face, patiently waiting for them to finish. He was calm, cautious. Sober.

When the laughter died down, Kolya stumbled to crouch opposite Petr, pointing his gun at the man.

“Are you going to shoot me, Kolya?”

“Listen to the guy,” he grinned, “Why you protecting a buncha whores, _Kapitan?_ ”

“I’m trying to protect _you_.”

“ _Ha!_ Did you hear that? What are you, some sort of _subversive?_ You like it when guys shake their asses at you? You jealous that they’re—” He pointed his gun at the girls, prompting cries of fear, “—gonna get my _prick_ instead’a you?”

Petr interrupted him before he could speak further, smooth but desperate, frustrated. “Kolya. You’re my _friend_.”

“Oh, am I?” Kolya laughed bitterly. “You my ‘friend’? Some fucking friend you are. Where were you when these fucking pigs burned down my Annya’s house?”

“They didn’t do it, Kolya. They’re just like Annya.”

“They’re _nothing_ like Annya. She didn’t live in any one of them big fucking fancy houses with pretty fucking dresses and more food than a pig could—”

“Kolya. Please. If you keep this up, you’re going to be just like the SS—”

“DON’T YOU _DARE_ ,” Kolya screamed in Petr’s face, spittle flying and hitting his face and jacket. “Don’t you DARE put me on the same level as those _scum_.”

“If you do this,” Petr spoke over Kolya, tranquil as a lake, “You _will_ be on their level.”

“Shut up, Petr, shut the _fuck_ up!” Kolya snapped his wrist and pistol whipped Petr across the cheek. He bled from the nose and mouth. “What the fuck do you know about _anything_ , you’re just a fucking hick with some stars on his collar, you don’t know a fucking thing.”

Petr turned his head to face Kolya straight on. He drew a slow breath and met his eyes.

“Don’t make me court-martial you.”

“ _Court-martial_ , listen to the man,” Kolya nearly keeled over with laughter. “Being an officer’s gone to your fucking head. Hey, Petr, what makes you think I give a shit if you court-martial me? What makes you think you even _can?_ ”

“Our orders during occupation clearly state that soldiers of—”

With sure hands betraying his intoxication, Kolya loaded his gun and pressed it right between Petr’s eyebrows. Petr fell silent.

“You know what? I can’t get fucking court-martialled by a corpse now, can I?”

“You can if they recover the bullet from your gun.”

“Such a fucking smartass,” Kolya grinned. “Ain’t even scared, are you? Betchu won’t even howl if I shoot you in the balls. Betchu’d just say something clever.”

“Don’t do this,” Petr said quietly, “Don’t do something you’ll regret. Don’t do something Annya would regret.”

“Shut the fuck up, Petr,” Kolya said with a wavering voice, though this time without an ounce of rage or venom. There was only hurt.

Prussia was finally close enough that she could reach out and touch any one of them with her bare hands. Kolya only just noticed her presence, eyes raking upwards from her mary-janes and black skirt to a pair of livid red eyes, redder than anything he had ever seen and made redder by the light flush across her pale white skin. He dropped his gun, eyes widening as he fell backwards, agape, mouth dry. There was fear there, fear of something unreal and supernatural and he started to scramble backwards, words caught in his throat.

“It’s a fucking ghost,” he whispered, “It’s a fucking demon ghost.”

“She’s albino,” someone said, wonder in their voice.

“No, man,” Kolya spluttered, “Albino eyes aren’t blood red.”

Prussia took a step towards Kolya and, for the first time, the soldiers saw her shaking in a rage that enveloped her completely as Prussia and nothing else dominated the landscape, darkening the corners of their vision. She forced an oppressive heaviness to the air that made it feel as though they were being crushed under the weight of immense gravity, unable to breathe, iciness settling in and twisting the pits of their stomachs. She took another step and Kolya whimpered, scrambling backwards further and further as he gazed up at her in reverent fear. Amidst the wrath, Prussia felt a tingle run up and down her spine in an orgasmic shiver. She was no stranger to this spectacle. In her mind’s eye she saw fire and burning and death and women who clamoured at her feet for mercy and salvation as men wept like babes and worshipped her like a god. Beyond the thin veneer of womanliness and civility, she felt the familiar simmering of bloodlust beneath her skin, spreading slowly the familiar aches of passion through her body in a plea for release that she might once again lose herself in the ecstasy of _conquering_.

“No…!” Kolya cried, scrabbling further backwards, “Stop! Don’t… Don’t come any closer!”

Prussia took another step.

“Annya! Annya, please don’t kill me. I loved you. I didn’t want to become like this but I did because _I loved you_.”

Another step.

“Oh god what have I done,” Kolya moaned, “What did I turn you into? What did I make?”

Another step.

“Stop! I beg you, stop!”

Another step. Kolya began to cry.

“ _What are you?_ ”

That was enough for him. He was curled up on the ground, clutching his head as he wept openly, like a babe crying for its mother’s teat. Petr reached out to him hesitantly but the violent flinch that came as his response stayed his hand. There were few words that came from Kolya amidst his weeping, but the only sound Petr could clearly make out was _mama_. He cried the word over and over again.

“You think that’s gonna work on me?”

Prussia turned just her head, glaring at another Red in the squad who had tossed his head back to drain the bottle of spirits he had been hanging on to. His eyes were bloodshot and his dark hair utterly unkempt. There was one star on his collar. When he was done drinking, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and threw the bottle down. It shattered. In Petr’s arms, the German girl let out a muffled cry as she clutched to him tighter. He swayed uncertainly, circling Prussia in appraisal. When he finally stopped, he gave her an insipid grin.

“Kolya’s just a little spook with a little prick,” he showed her the space between his thumb and index finger to illustrate. The other Reds giggled. Petr glanced at Kolya, who said nothing.

“Ilya,” Petr muttered.

“Shut up, Petr. Nobody gives a fuck what you think,” Ilya replied without taking his eyes off Prussia. He stumbled towards her, head held high, close enough for her to catch a whiff of some cheap cologne mingling with the thickness of drink and vomit.

“Oh, you smell _divine_.” He grabbed her. “I wonder what you taste like.”

Immediately, a scuffle broke out. Without thinking, Prussia wrenched free of his grasp and punched him squarely in the face. It sent his body twisting back and he landed on his stomach, a hand clapped over his mouth as he let out a wail of agony. He looked up at her, livid with fury. He was bleeding heavily from the mouth, teeth covered in red – what teeth there was, at least. Three little blood-covered white stubs were in the palm of his hand. He let out a roar, launching himself towards her. This time, she didn’t anticipate the broken bottle in his other hand. He managed to grab her by her hair, pulling so hard that it made her cry out. When she felt glass pressing into her throat, she faltered in her struggles.

Ilya spat excess blood from the corner of his mouth. “Hold her down,” he growled.

His friends swarmed and they slammed her onto the ground, sitting on her arms and legs. One of them took her by the hair and smashed her head onto the gravel, inducing a groan as her vision blurred and interwove with over-bright lights. Ilya straddled her and began to fumble with his belt.

Everything was warped and muffled now. Prussia was vaguely aware of Petr somewhere, begging for the German girl to let him go, Ilya telling him to mind his own business. Someone reached down under her skirt, rough hands on her inner thigh, spreading them apart. She heard screaming and crying. She heard someone say _mama_ , over and over again. She heard unzipping.

She heard a gun loading with a click, the loudest sound in that alley, silencing all others.

“What do you _think_ you’re doing?”

Prussia knew that voice.

It was all a blur. Splutterings, apologies, words, words, words.

She’s just a whore… _where do you think you’re putting your filthy hands_ LOOK look what she did to Nikolai… _that girl’s dress…_ why do you care What does it matter to you You know everyone does this She’s just a whore _how much have you had to drink_ no no please no don’t kill me no please _your cock’s hanging out where were you planning on putting it_ nowhere nowhere I wasn’t going to put it anywhere I **swear**

_l i a r_

oh no what are you doing WHERE ARE YOU POINTING THAT THING  
 _where do you want me to_

  

  

  

please

pleas e d o n ’ t please w h y 

_how much time do you spend touching your own cock I wonder_

please PLEASE NO DON’T _you know I think_  


Anything don’t do this don’t don’t don’t shoot it please _I’m not going to shoot it_

oh no oh n o n o n o p lease don’t don’t D o n ’ t  K i l l M e

_stop sniveling_

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I Pr o m i s e I won’t do it anymore I’ll s t o p I

_I’ll give you exactly what you want_  
                  W ha t D o Yo u Mean

  


w ha t a r e y o u d o i n g

  


  


  


And then, she felt someone emptying a magazine of bullets into her body.

It was like a switch had been flipped. The numbing haze evaporated like a flash, suddenly the all-too-real sensations of bullet penetrating skin and flesh engulfed her and she let out a long, strangled cry. Again and again and again she felt her body jerk with each shot, pulling her and making her thrash unnaturally until the gunshots stopped and the only sound she could hear was the gurgling from her own throat as blood began to ooze out of her like a punctured bag seeped water. Her head lolled to the side lifelessly but she could see the gravel stain and darken, and the stain grew larger and larger as if it would never stop. She tried to move her body but all she could do was twitch her fingers. Her limbs were numbing again, but this time due to overwhelming pain. This would not kill her. But it hurt like hell.

“Why did you shoot her,” Petr was horrified, furious. “She did nothing wrong! She didn’t deserve any punishment!”

“This isn’t _her_ punishment,” Russia said coolly.

Beside her, Ilya was slumped on the ground, gazing up in that awe-inspired fear. Amidst the stench of blood, Prussia smelled urine.

Slowly, he stepped closer and crouched in front of the man. Russia grabbed a fistful of his hair and jerked his head back.

“What I did to her,” Russia’s voice was soft but cold. “You will get a hundred times over. I’ll give you hell and I’ll give you it for twenty years. And just like her—”

Russia paused, turning to look at Prussia who was spasming in the throes of mortal death, blood gushing from her mouth, eyes rolling into her head as she stared her last at Ilya whose face distorted in her failing vision.

“I won’t let you _die_.”

And everything faded.

  

  

_He had beautiful blue eyes. When they first met, they were thin as a trickling stream. Empty. Cold. Sad. But they had both been alone then._

_His hands were soft, like they would never be again, so small in the grasp of her sword-hardened palms. His hair was soft, too. Everything about him was soft and sweet and when he looked at her, he was unafraid. And when he smiled at her, he was beautiful. And he made her feel beautiful. And when he smiled at her, colour filled his cheeks. And when he smiled at her, his eyes were deeper blues than the glittering Danube. And when he smiled at her, she was in love._

_He was so little in her arms. How could anything be so little and yet so alive?_

_And sweet, so sweet, sweeter than wine or music. She never knew anything sweeter than his dimpled smile and the love in his eyes and in her mind he was always small and soft and beautiful, the only true beauty she could ever recognise. Wine and music were beyond her but she would always remember him and his gentleness on her soul. And when he laid in her arms and slept, she felt like there was nothing she wouldn’t overcome. And when he clutched her hand and held it close in safety, she forgot what it felt to be alone._

_And the Danube cascaded evermore, blue and blue and bluer still under the golden sun._

  

  

Prussia opened her eyes.

The lights were dim, a kindness to her tired sight, and the room blurred and warped around her. She turned her head, heard the steady ticking of a clock in faded echoes as someone leaned over her and pressed a palm against her forehead. He had big hands, cool and comfortable against her overwarm skin. She gave herself a little time to recover, twitching her fingers and curling her toes as her mind awoke from the haze of slumber. Everything was still out of focus but she knew enough to tell the vague shapes of people from each other.

“You shot me, you bastard,” she rasped.

Russia smiled. “I’m sorry.”

“Liar.”

She tried to sit. Russia pulled the pillows up and helped prop her up against them. She winced as a jolt of pain shot through her torso, arms too heavy to move or react to the feeling. Her entire upper body was wrapped in thick bandages, cumbersome under the loose shirt she was wearing, different and overlarge from the time of her shooting. If she squinted enough, she could see the blood stains over the shoulder and sleeve. She wondered how badly her wounds had been to continue to bleed after the fact but she found that thinking made her head hurt.

Russia pressed a glass of water to her lips and she gratefully drained it, realising for the first time how dry her throat was.

“How long was I out for?”

“It’s been days,” his tone was easy as he leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs. “I was almost afraid you wouldn’t make it.”

“Then don’t shoot me in the first place,” Prussia groused sharply, glare tired. He laughed.

“I’m glad to see you still have that tongue on you. You’ll recover normally.”

She ignored him. “What happened?”

“Well,” he sighed, “I talked to my boss about instituting some form of corporeal punishment for dishonourable behavior. He mentioned something about labour camps and gulags but not much else.”

“Wow, really.” Prussia’s voice was utterly flat. “How progressive.”

“If you must know, I’ve made appeals for several years since the early days of occupation. It seems that with the coming elections, the higher ups are feeling the influence of soldier-civilian interaction more direly now. We are, after all, anticipating public endorsement of a communist German state.”

Prussia forced her anger down. Anger made her head hurt. “They finally decided to punish rapists for political _feasibility?_ ”

“In so many words, yes.”

Prussia squeezed her eyes shut, chanting _patience_ in her mind like it was a mantra. She could already feel the dull ache of an impending migraine and that was one more injury than she needed. Instead, she exhaled slowly and tried to focus on something happier, something that made her feel light and good. She’d had a dream, a sweet dream, blond hair and blue eyes. Her insides were still clenched and twisted but it untightened by just so much. The Danube, she’d dreamt of that too. No matter how ugly the world and the people in it were, the Danube was beauty eternal. It was always blue, always flowing, always serene. It became just a little easier for her to breathe, a little easier to think and concentrate. Blue eyes and the Danube.

Russia reached forward and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“If you are upset, I apologise. My powers extend only so much.”

She knew. But she didn’t want to think about it.

Prussia focused instead on the other man in the room. He immediately took his hat off and respectfully bowed his head.

Blond hair, blue eyes.

“You’re that captain.”

“Yes,” he said, “Petr Ruzicka, with the 6th Guards Cavalry Division.”

“He was quite insistent on meeting you,” Russia said, “And he’s usually a mild young boy.”

“Ivan, please,” Petr said bashfully, clearly somewhat affronted by the childish treatment even if he was polite about it.

Russia smiled at him and stood, straightening his coat. He squeezed Prussia’s shoulder.

“I must go talk to Internal Affairs. I was going to tell you earlier but your unfortunate run-in displaced my plans: there will be a meeting with the other Allies to declare the formation of your new government. We will postpone the meeting until you are fully healed, however. Members of the SED have been informed of the change in plans as well. Oh, and your brother will be there.”

Prussia stared after Russia, disbelieving.

“Why are you so surprised?” Russia asked, raising his eyebrows, “It’s not like I’ve forbidden you from meeting him. Your separation has been self-imposed.”

She hesitated. “That is true. But…”

“Well, to be honest I’d prefer if he wasn’t there. You are his older sister, after all. But I am more shocked that you both have managed to keep away for so long without making amends.”

Prussia said nothing.

“I know I shouldn’t say this, but Germany _has_ been longing to meet with you…”

She loved and hated Russia in that moment, hated herself more for that damned ghost of hope in her voice, “Longing?”

“An incentive for your swift recovery,” he nodded. He stroked her hair and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Now, I’m afraid I must go.”

When Russia left, Petr and Prussia were alone together. Petr approached, sitting where Russia had been moments before, quietly hemming and hawing over what to say. Prussia watched him in silence. He was exactly as she remembered him, smartly clad in his uniform and with neatly parted blond hair. He met her eyes directly, an action she found unusually bold. Perhaps after her little display with his friend Kolya, he had learnt not to be intimidated by her. Then again, he had seen her ‘die’. There was little else in the world as overwhelming as a violent scene as that.

“The girls were very shaken after your shooting,” he said, “Ultimately, they are fine. It was very fortunate that none of them were attacked aside from the damage done to Ms Schmidt’s dress. I thought they might have been traumatised but they seem to be adjusting well.”

“Kind of you,” Prussia replied, voice still a little hoarse, “You seem very concerned for the girls even now.”

“Ah, well,” Petr coughed, embarrassed by the praise, “The men were taken by Military Police after you lost consciousness. Kol- Nikolai is currently being disciplined but the others are undergoing trial. I have to go and testify in a while.”

“Must be hard, testifying against your friends.”

“It is,” he agreed sadly.

Prussia was just making conversation, not really meaning what she said, but his response had taken her off-guard. He was a little different than what she had anticipated. He was, what was the word, humble? Genial? He seemed very much grounded in reality and, she noted with a hint of irony, _quixotic_. She wondered if he was a replacement to still retain that beautiful spark of idealism in humanity and human goodness. She asked him.

“Oh, not at all,” he replied, somewhat surprised by the sudden change in topic. “I’ve been with the 6th since its formation. I was deployed in every operation; Stalingrad, Smolensk, East Prussia, Kurland.”

Old soldier salt, then. He must be a wonderful human being to still be this optimistic after serving the Soviet Union for so long.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said wryly, “You’re thinking ‘He seems like such a square.’”

Prussia couldn’t help the smile. She wasn’t planning on sparing his feelings anyway. He averted his gaze.

“I… hate fighting.”

“You’re in the wrong line of work.”

“Don’t I know it,” he chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I just want the war to end quickly so that me, my division, all of us can go back to our lives. I want everything to return to when there were no wars.”

“Nice thought.”

“You think it’s naïve, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Prussia sighed, “I want it too.”

Petr hesitated then.

“Is it true? Are you… really like Ivan?”

“If you mean if I’m an asshole like him, then the answer is yes, I have my decades. If you mean am I a headcase like him, then no.” What kind of well-adjusted person _shot_ someone eight times at point-blank range and expected them to get over it?

“No, I mean… Are you truly a country?” Of course.

“Is this why you wanted to talk to me?”

“I’m sorry if it seems rude but… I held you in my arms as you died. I saw you _die_. I carried you to the hospital myself, heard the doctor say your lungs were punctured and your heart was swollen and bleeding. Now you’re sitting up in bed with holes in your chest that are slowly filling up and disappearing by the hour. Forgive me, but I would never be at peace if I hadn’t taken some time to speak to you.”

Prussia touched her chest, felt the coarseness of bandages under her shirt.

“I was worried about you.”

“Are you real?” Prussia’s mouth ran away without her. “ _Why?_ ” _I’m your enemy._

Petr fell silent a moment. He toyed with his cuffs, turning over the words in his head before he finally spoke again.

“Ivan won’t say it but… after I took you to the hospital, he dragged Ilya by the collar and threw him into the war room and demanded they do something about it. The only reason they actually did institute the new law was because he had them at gunpoint. None of them knew he’d emptied it on you, but my point stands. He worried – worries about you. It's not something that can be helped. I worried about you. I just _do_.”

“You barely know me,” her voice sounded hollow even to her, unable to comprehend the information, not sure what anything meant anymore.

“What does it matter? If you die, what does that mean for your people?”

_If you die, what does that mean for your people?_

_If you die, what does that mean for your people?_

“I,” Prussia said, “I’ve never thought about it before.”

“I’m sorry,” Petr said quickly, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Prussia was only vaguely aware that she shook her head. She felt heavy, a great burden on her heart slowly making her sink deeper and deeper until she was kicking ineffectually into a great black beast that would swallow her whole. The dim room was too dark now, she needed light, she needed noise, she needed _something_ that would stop the terror, the terror because she was never afraid, the terror that she never had to think about. She wanted to cover her ears, close her eyes, force herself to stop thinking, to stop thinking, to stop thinking because her head and her heart hurt and inside her, something wanted to break down and cry and she was terrified and alone.

“Hey,” someone breathed in her ear, warm and strong arms around her and holding her close. “Hey, it’s all right. I’m sorry. Calm down. Inhale slowly.”

She closed her eyes, burying her face in Petr’s chest, just breathing. He smelled like soap and shaving foam and metal and boot polish. His hands rubbed soothing circles into her back and stroked her hair. It felt… good. Nice. Different from when Russia did the same. She slowly moved her hands to reciprocate the embrace, clutching the fabric of his uniform loosely, tucking herself into the crook of his neck. Her lashes fluttered as she quietly counted the freckles along his throat, breaths lengthening into even puffs that warmed his skin.

“You remind me of my brother,” her voice was muffled through his jacket, “But smarter and less emotionally stunted.”

Petr laughed and she realised that she had smiled at the sound of it.

  

  

The world turned on and on.

Two weeks. Two long, tired weeks that seemed to stretch into eternity.

The nights and days blended together, interspersed with fever dreams where the Danube was all around her and drowned her in the blue, where rough hands spread her apart, where she felt someone kiss her forehead and laugh, where a voice in her ear threatened her to shut up as her body lurched with gunshot after gunshot only it never just stopped at eight and the red stained the beautiful blue until it browned into an endless unbreathable black. Some nights she awoke sweating and panting and crying. Some days she awoke in peace. People came and went from her room. Mostly she did not know their identities, only aware that they were there, checking on her and talking quietly amongst themselves when she was half-asleep. Sometimes she felt someone pressing a cool towel to her face and neck, trying to wipe away the fever. Sometimes those hands lingered over her brow and lips and stroked her hair. And when she was awake, sometimes Petr entered her room bearing coffee and biscuits, a smile on his face and a twinkle in his radiant blue eyes. She never knew what possessed him to return. She decided not to question it. His company was the most desirable she’d had in years.

He was what she wanted.

Blond hair and blue eyes.

They weren’t _the_ blond hair and blue eyes from her dream; indeed, nothing could ever be. In fact, he was so different from the blond and blue in every way. Lacking the developed muscles and stiff formality of the boy she’d known, Petr was slender but toned and charming and cheeky and playful and everything _he_ was not, everything she sometimes wished he could be ( _and this was a lie because **he** was perfect to her, would always be despite any of her misgivings_ ). Petr was nothing like him. And thank goodness for that, for it made it infinitely easier and better for her to spend time with him and cherish his company. And that little feathered bird called ‘guilt’ never perched in her heart. And that was relief.

Once, Petr kissed her.

She had been so astonished that she hadn’t known how to react, could only touch her mouth where his lips had pressed against hers as he blushed and left the room. The extent of his subsequent visits consisted of him lingering under her window before decidedly leaving. Between meetings with her politicians and lunches with Russia, she found herself waiting for Petr’s appearance, wanting to meet him again because she missed his company. Humans were such peculiar things. They both wanted to meet yet he kept away. She thought this as she leaned against the sill, watching him hover in front of her door as the other guards nudged each other and grinned at him and suddenly, she felt as though she had been slapped in the face.

They both wanted to meet. Yet, they kept away.

She’d lived long enough to watch this tragic little spiral of life and love unravel again and again. The fortunate ones would reunite eventually to consummate their requited affections but too many too often spent their lives apart from each other, thinking only of the things that could have been as their lives took them further and further away until all they had left were regrets and longing. It was a common tale. It was a stupid tale.

Prussia wrenched her window up and yelled for Petr to get his ass in her room.

In her heart of hearts, she knew what she had to do.

  

  

Prussia double-checked her appearance in the mirror, combing her hair with her fingers in an effort to style it as attractively as she could. She’d been at it for a full hour already but she couldn’t help herself. She would never admit it aloud, but she was anxious to see Germany and to, god help her, make a good impression. She was worried about how he would act towards her, if he’d acknowledge their fight, if he even wanted to reconcile. But Russia had said that Germany _wanted_ to see her… Russia was many things and while _trustworthy_ and _sane_ were not necessarily qualities she personally associated with him, they had a long enough history together that she was willing to put her faith in those words. She smoothened her skirt for what seemed like the hundredth time, glancing at her wristwatch as she strained her ears for the telltale sound of a car in the driveway. Germany would have a heart attack, she thought with a little smile, when he saw her in a skirt and pumps. It would be worth the extra primping just to see that reaction, file it away and laugh at it whenever she had the chance. A good memory. That’s what they both needed. A shared good memory.

There was a rumble of an engine outside. Prussia took a deep breath, ready to go downstairs. Someone knocked on her bedroom door. She answered. A pair of soldiers greeted her politely.

“Ms Beilschmidt, Mr Braginsky says he needs to make a quick phone call and to please come down when you are ready.”

“I’ve been ready for a while,” she said. The one who had spoken nodded and left for the foyer. The other soldier smiled at her.

“Big day?”

She let out a nervous laugh. “The biggest.”

“You’ll do fine.”

“Sure,” she sighed, “Where’s Malkov?”

“Running an errand for Beria.”

“You’re his replacement?”

“Something like that.” Petr smiled, scanning her briefly. “You look lovely, Gillian.”

“Well, it is a big day.”

“The biggest, right?” Petr took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Everything will be fine.”

“Thanks,” she said, squeezing back, “I mean it.”

Petr quickly released her hand with a blush and a cough, as though he hadn’t been aware of his gesture and how forward it had been (not as forward as his spontaneous little kissing act the week before but the point remained). He mumbled something to himself and stepped aside, unable to meet her eyes. His helpless embarrassment was endearing, not unlike a certain someone she knew, and she slipped her hand into his and squeezed it again. She felt him tense and redden and he quickly twined his fingers with her, still focusing his gaze elsewhere as his ears burned scarlet. She let out a soft laugh, almost feeling bad for him. Humans.

From downstairs, there was the sound of the car horn giving two polite honks.

Petr cleared his throat and stepped aside to allow her through. She took a slow breath before making her way down to where Russia was waiting, Petr trailing behind her. Russia brightened when he noticed her, smiling appreciatively at her appearance. He offered his arm to her, which she dutifully ignored. She walked past him and slid into the back seat of the waiting car. With a long-suffering sigh, Russia followed after and sat beside her. As the car backed out of the driveway, she saw Petr and his partner giving them a little wave. Her eyes lingered on the upstairs window of her house where it was tinted blue from reflecting the Vistula Lagoon, her beautiful blue Danube in the north. The window grew smaller with each passing moment and slowly disappeared with the roof, the walls, the house and the trees, fading completely into a tint of blue in the thick of the landscape until there was nothing left for her to look at except a vague direction.

“We’ve arrived.”

Prussia started awake, unaware that she had fallen asleep in the first place. That she could sleep with the current state of her frazzled nerves was impressive. However, her mind quickly roused. She stilled, suddenly terrified and excited all at once. Russia made to get up and out of the car but she grabbed his hand and he sat back down at the gesture, looking at her in puzzlement.

“I don’t think I should be here.”

“Nonsense,” he reproached gently, “The point of this entire get-together is specifically about you. If you’re worried about how your little brother will react then my advice is just to ignore him as his sentiments have absolutely no bearing on the outcome of the meeting. That he’s allowed to tag along is only a courtesy to me.”

“…What?”

“To you,” Russia amended, “To you, to me, it makes no difference since you and I are together now, no?”

“I don’t know,” she said, a little suspicious of him now, “If he and I were to reconcile…”

Russia let out an irate huff. “All right. I asked them to drag him along. You call for him in your sleep, it seemed only right to let you be together to allay your fears if not to make up. Take that silly reconciliation notion out of your head. You are not leaving me.”

She was dumbfounded. “You… You’d _do that_ for me?”

“Prussia, you’re my _friend_ ,” Russia smiled, reaching over and stroking her cheek, “I do a great deal for the people I care about.”

“But if you told them to drag him here, then…”

“Oh, rest assured, he does indeed wish to see you.” Russia chuckled. “When I last saw him during one of the Allied meetings, he had the cheek to ask me if I was mistreating you. Mistreating! No doubt that foolish little capitalist boy has been whispering something poisonous in his ear.”

Prussia felt that something inside her unwind. She breathed relief, felt her body sigh with it. When she finally had her wits about her, she looked to Russia determinedly and gave him a firm nod.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

The doors to the meeting hall opened before them as they passed through, and Prussia walked behind Russia. The entire room paused at their entrance. Prussia was well aware that the stares were directed at her and her appearance. While she _had_ taken every opportunity to smarten up, it wasn’t so much the clothes that they were looking at. In the years that had passed since Russia’s appropriation of Prussia, the war-hardened masculinity in her face and poise had all but gone. Office work had softened her. The lack of exercise had awarded her a sort of luxurious plumpness found in women and that gave her shape in her hips and in her breasts, small though they were but unbound now and therefore visible. Her smooth long legs that had been hidden away century after century behind breeches and jackboots were in full view now, clad in pantyhose and tapering into a pair of sleek black heels. Her hair had grown longer, still in that boy’s cut of which she had always been fond, but her bangs were side swept as they brushed over her eyes and the back of her hair skimmed her shoulders.

In short, she was a vision. A violent, deceiving, millennium-old vision.

Though she was generally used to attention, she didn’t like the _sort_ of attention she was currently getting. Prussia quickly scanned around the room in a bid to occupy herself and she found herself vaguely recognising the other countries present in the room. The Italies and Japan were clustered in a corner. Hungary, with an astonished look on her face, was sitting alongside Poland and Ukraine. She didn’t see Germany anywhere amongst them. He was, as it turned out, with the Allies. Their eyes met. He approached her, France following only part way before deciding to give them some privacy.

The first thing she noticed about him was that he looked a right mess.

Germany, her Germany, always so prim and proper and without a single thread or hair out of place, was shabby. His suit was wrinkled. His tie was askew, loosened slightly at the collar where the top button was undone. One of the lapels of his blazer folded awkwardly. His usually slicked back blond hair looked like he had run his fingers through them – in the wrong direction. Most important of all, his eyes were red and puffy, circled with darkness that always appeared when he was overworked. His gaze alternated between her face and his own shoes, like he wanted to say something but hadn’t the strength. She frowned as she reached forward and smoothed his lapel, speaking gently.

“You look like shit.”

There were no formalities or pleasantries between them. There never would be, not when she raised and loved him like he was her own flesh and blood. She remembered the sting of his words and the implications they carried regarding what she had experienced throughout the war all those years ago, but it was subordinate to the absolute adulation she felt to be able to see him again and to touch him and to feel how solid and warm and how unlike the wisps of blue and gold in her dreams he was. It felt strange, though. Somehow, all those years spent under someone else’s rule had forced her tongue into obedience. She barely remembered the last time she swore at anyone at all. She wondered if it was too harsh on someone as sensitive as Germany to be frank and blunt and rude after so long apart, especially considering the nature of their parting. She discovered her worries were unfounded.

Briefly, a smile flickered over his lips. But it did not reach his too-tired eyes.

Instead, he took the hand that was spread over his chest and squeezed it like he never wanted to let go. He stared unwillingly at the ground in that petulant way he often did when he was at a loss. She saw his lip tremble. She heard his voice waver.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Apologise, you dumb ass,” she gave him a fond smack on his shoulder, tone exasperated and desperately relieved.

“Will it even be enough…”

“Of course it will,” Prussia whispered, forcing him to look up at her. She hooked the fingers of her free hand over the back of his neck, cradling his head and pressing their foreheads together. “It will always be enough between us.”

His lip trembled even more violently.

“Don’t _cry_ , you’re a man, aren’t you?” And damned it all, she felt her eyes watering too. “Shit, you’re going to make _me_ cry and that’ll make us look like a bunch of idiots so don’t you _dare_. Look, you’re a stupid overly-muscled kid whose boots were too big for him, all right? So you’re always going to be wrong. Always. No matter how right you think you are, you’re never going to be as right as _me_. So all you have to do is beg forgiveness like your life depended on it and grovel over my every whim and we’ll always be square. Okay?”

“Okay,” was all he could say and he forced himself to take deep breaths.

She leaned out and laced their fingers together as their hands dropped to their sides. Of course, the other nations didn’t have the decency to look away so all she could do was glare at them. Someone ushered them to sit, and even though Germany’s designated place was elsewhere, no one kicked up a fuss when they sat side by side, holding hands. Germany said nothing. The only thing she could do was let him be by her side, squeezing her hand so tightly like he was afraid she would go away. It concerned her to see him like this because she hadn’t once thought of America or France as cruel masters. Perhaps multiple occupiers meant that they each overworked Germany. She leaned into him.

“Hey,” she breathed, “Did they do anything to you?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie. Tell me seriously if they have. I may be occupied but I can still sabotage them somehow and Hungary owes me a favour.”

“It’s not—” And here, she saw Germany stop himself. “… I don’t expect my older sibling to come with guns a’blazing to defend my honour.”

Prussia was horrified. “If they’ve been desecrating your honour, you can _bet_ I’m going to defend it—”

“They haven’t,” he interrupted hurriedly, “It was just a figure of speech. I’m… I’m fine.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Then _why_ ,” she said emphatically, “Do you look like you’re at a funeral?”

He said nothing.

Prussia was about to dig at him further but by then the other nations had taken their seats and the meeting was called to order. Prussia gave Germany a look that promised further discussion but he refused to meet her eyes. Instead, he stared blankly ahead at nothing at all as he slouched in his chair, expression growing ever more mournful and ashamed and miserable with each passing moment. It worried her, but with a lingering look, she slowly transferred her attention to the proceedings.

“Now that we are all gathered, let us begin. We have released a number of new proclamations…”

It was boring administrative stuff, but it was still important as it pertained to elections and the formation of a new government in her sector of Germany. She didn’t understand why Germany’s grip on her hand tightened further as United Kingdom droned about semantics and military ordinances and looked at him with concern. She glanced at Russia in hopes that he would know but he was sitting across the room on the platform with the other Allies and was serenely absorbed in the proceedings. Beside her, Germany squeezed his eyes shut.

“And now, from the Allied Control Council, Law No. 46 is as follows: The Prussian State, which from early days had been the bearer of militarism and reaction in Germany, has _de facto_ ceased to exist.”

Prussia felt herself go cold.

She stared at United Kingdom, unable to comprehend what he was saying.

“Guided by the interests of preservation of peace and security of peoples and with the desire to assure further reconstruction of the political life of Germany on a democratic basis, the Control Council enacts as follows: Article 1. The Prussian State with its central government and all its agencies is abolished…”

Prussia heard nothing else.

There was no sound. No voices. No people.

Just her.

By herself.

Alone.

In an endless expanse of white that had only her in it.

And the silence deafened her.

Made her small.

Made her insignificant. Made her cold. Dead. Unfeeling. Numb. Cold. Dead. Alone. Unfeeling. Cold. Dead. Alone. _Abolished_. Cold. Numb. Small. Unfeeling. Cold. _Nonexistent_. Dead. Alone. Small. Unfeeling. Numb. Numb. Numb numb numb numb numb numb numb numnbnumbnumbnumbnumbnumb _numbnumbnumbnumbnumbnumbnumb_ and inside everything twisted and coiled and slithered like it wanted her to retch everything everything, every feeling, every weight, every darkness inside her that moved and shot and jolted under her skin as something cold and sharp and icy and horrible pierced her, and her heart grew heavy and heavy like a stone in the ocean and black and ice cold and terror and horror and the Danube the Danube the Danube the bl u e and then it began to desc en d l ik e dark n  e s s a nd sh e w o u l d no t giv e i n t o it s h e w o uld n ot wo u l d _n o t_ g i v e i n t o i t w o u l d n o t _**would not** give into it_.

“You bastards.”

She heard her voice shaking and it shattered the white and everything rushed back to her with such burning and intensity that it made her feel like she would collapse under the weight of reality and her head was hurting and hurting and on fire and the deafening silence suddenly rang and modulated and interfered so _sharply_ that it made her feel like her head would explode and she was light headed and everything was _wrong_.

“… She’s still alive,” someone faraway said, wonder in their voice. And amidst all that, she felt her hands tingle with _existence_.

“You _bastards._ ”

“—shame, thought I could see an actual death…”

“—to be expected. She is the portion of Germany to be partitioned to the Soviet Unio—”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

She barely heard herself scream but her throat was raw and she vaguely heard the skittering of a chair on the floor where she had stood, hands aching as they slammed against the banister.

“You fucking _pigs_ ,” and she was so angry she could barely see so angry she was shaking. “You blithering cockless mongrel sons of _whores_. How _dare_ you, how dare you even _try_ , how dare you drag me to _my city_ and collectively attempt to end my very existence you god damned witless fools—”

“Now see here, this is—”

“Take your fucking head out of your ass for one god damned second and stop spewing shit for the sake of listening to your own god damned voice you snivelling turd,” Prussia snarled, “Who the fuck do you think you are, you damned brat? You’re a fucking _baby_ , you can’t even tie your own fucking shoelaces, you still cry for mummy’s milk and shit in a fucking diaper and scream for her when you decide to play games with the grown-ups. This was your fucking idea, wasn’t it? You don’t have a fucking clue, you spineless shit, _how dare you_.”

America was about to defend himself but United Kingdom placed a hand on his chest and shook his head.

Prussia’s glare sharpened with realisation.

“This **was** your idea.”

“The name of your _state_ is associated with militarism and so—”

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW,” Prussia screamed at him, “Your fucking armies, your tanks, your guns, your formations, your battalions, who gave you that? Eisenhower? Roosevelt? I was alive before the _thought_ of you even _existed_ and I created all of this. _All of this._ I was a _woman_ and I gave you your fucking goddamn modern military. If the truth hurts than you only have your own fucking selves to blame. And _you—_ ”

She jabbed a finger at France and United Kingdom.

“—five hundred years, we’ve fought and fought and _fought_ for five hundred years and we’ve never had a problem, _never had a problem_. And then this high and mighty little chicken shit decides to play war and then _convinces you to fucking dissolve another country with whom you’ve been for longer than his entire lifespan—_ ”

“Please try to understand,” United Kingdom attempted.

“He’s a fucking _baby_ , a fucking _baby_. His military’s big but that’s because he didn’t have anyone to _play with_ and you’re going to let the _size_ of his military lead you to this? And France you goddamned frog, you fucking whore, of all people _you_ would stoop to this? You’ a fucking pansy asshole but you were my friend whenever we weren’t trying to fucking kill each other. When you were weak, you were _so fucking weak_ and when you were strong, even the _pope_ shat his fucking pants at the thought of you and regardless of how great or shitty you were, did any of us _ever_ think to erase you? I’ll be the first person to admit I’m an asshole, especially when it comes to war, but I never once wanted to destroy you _permanently_.”

France opted to say nothing. United Kingdom tried again to speak.

“Effectively, what properties and boundaries may have once been under the domain of the state of Prussia will immediately fall under the jurisdiction of the Allies and, if by some circumstances, administrative powers needs to be delegated to a local representative, your brother will assume command,” he cleared his throat at this, averting his gaze briefly.

“My _what?_ ” Prussia asked near-deliriously. She pointed at Germany without taking her eyes off the Allies. “He’s a fucking _child_ just like your dipshit Supreme Allied Asshole America.”

“Precisely,” United Kingdom managed in that aggravatingly clipped British manner of his. “Seeing as your brother is much younger than you comparatively, the Allied Powers have decided that all blame in this war will fall upon you as a result of your decisions, your judgement and any council you may have provided to your brother before, during and after the duration of the war.”

“Blame for the…” Prussia echoed hollowly, “You’re blaming _all of this_ on me?”

“Including acts of genocide, human experimentation and any acts of aggression to German and non-German citizens alike before, during and—”

“What is _wrong_ with you?” She heard her voice waver. “It’s not enough that you take away my identity, my lands, my _name_ ; now you want to take away my right to exist and then _blame_ this entire war on me?”

“In a word,” United Kingdom paused. “Yes.”

“That you’re even breathing now after being dissolved is a miracle,” France said quietly, for the first time.

“Your brother has officially received all power transference upon Law No. 46 being signed. There is nothing further.”

Prussia felt as though she had been slapped, as though she had been gutted. She couldn’t breathe. She felt weak in the knees, like she couldn’t stand and she was going to cry. She knew she was going to cry. She was going to fall to her feet and break down and drown in her tears. She was shaking. She was so _angry_.

“You knew.”

Germany looked up at her, stricken. He shook his head, reaching for her but she slapped his hand away when she saw the guilt in his eyes and she felt nauseous and dirty and _betrayed_.

“You _knew_.”

“I didn’t, I swear I didn’t,” Germany babbled, rising to go after Prussia but he stumbled over the chairs and fell to his knees. “I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t know.”

“Liar.”

“Please, I promise, I _swear_ I didn’t know, I didn’t want this, I never wanted this—”

In the distance, Russia was speaking with the other Allies distastefully. _“I remember no such agreements about power transference or Prussia’s dissolution. This meeting was supposed to be about the formation of a new government in the Soviet zone, not about a new military law.”_

“You knew and you said _nothing. Nothing_. Like you _wanted_ this to happen.”

“That’s not true! Please listen to me when I tell you I didn’t _know_.”

Prussia shook her head disbelievingly, unspeakably angry, unable to do more than whisper.

“I _loved_ you.”

Germany sobbed, tears running down his face as he broke down, crying with everything he had. He crawled after her, tried to cling to her leg but she kicked at his hand and started to back away, as though he was diseased. Amidst Germany’s cries, Russia reappeared by her side and, with a hand on her shoulder, told her to come away. She turned her back on Germany who struggled against the restraints of the other Allies as he tried to reach her. She heard him, heard every word he cried on that dusty hall floor as it echoed off the walls and quivered in the air.

“Please, I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t know, they only told me on the car ride over, what could I do, I was so afraid—”

Russia’s arm tightened around her but she felt nothing, numb and emotionless and empty.

“—thought you’d _die_ , couldn’t think of anything else but that, please dear god don’t hate me, don’t, I swear I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I DIDN’T KNOW.”

The corridor was never this long before, never so endless.

_Please, listen to me, believe me, I didn’t know_

_I didn’t know_

_Come back please, please listen to me_

_I didn’t know, on my life_

_I don’t want this, don’t want any of this_

_I didn’t know_

  

  

  

  

_I DIDN’T KNOW_

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

_I SWEAR I DIDN’T KNOW_

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

The door slammed open as Prussia stormed into her house. Petr was already inside with two other guards and they had been making tea. His eyes lit up at the sight of her and he moved to embrace her but stopped short at her bloodshot eyes and the scowl on her face.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” her voice was shaking.

Petr was at a loss. “I was…”

“Do you love me or something? Do you see a future for us that involves a big house in your shitty Czechoslovakian countryside with blond children running around and calling us ‘mama’ and ‘tata’? Do you want to sweep me off my feet and _marry_ me? Or do you just want to see what an albino’s cunt is like, is that it?”

Petr who had been taken aback at first reddened with embarrassment and anger. He opened his mouth to retort but she gave him no chance.

“Why don’t you go the fuck back to your own piece of shit country and fuck a god damned Slovakian girl with big soft tits? Soviets can’t fucking _marry_ Germans so get your head out of your ass and, lest you forget, I’m not a fucking _human_ , did you actually think we would work? You’ll grow old and fucking decrepit and in your nineties and I’ll still look exactly like this. Is that what you want? To have us fall in love so I can watch you die? _Did you even think I ever loved you?_ ”

He looked hurt, hurt for all the world, as though his heart had been ripped from his chest and chewed out and spat upon.

Good.

“Get the fuck out of my house,” Prussia growled, “Get the fuck out of my land and go the fuck home. And don’t you dare come back here.”

Petr wanted to touch her, wanted to tell her he wanted to heal and listen to her and make it better but she smacked away his arms and disarmed him, pulling back the hammer of his pistol and aiming it right between his eyes. His hands fell to his sides. He gazed at her searchingly, wanted to know if she meant any of it but there was just rage and more rage in her eyes and he finally looked away. The other guards walked to him, tugged his arm and eventually they emptied the house.

The gun was still trained on the silhouette of a target when Russia came and pushed her hand down. She dropped it to the ground with trembling fingers.

Prussia roared and upended a table, kicked over a light stand, grabbed a chair and _threw_ it at her window and watched it shatter and break. She grabbed a bookshelf and shoved it to make it fall, threw a lamp to the floor, swept books and documents and papers off a desk before she upended _that_ desk. She punched through the wall, over and over again until her knuckles bled and when Russia took her by the wrist to envelop her in a hug she pounded on his chest until she broke down into sobs.

“I _loved_ him,” she screamed, “I’ve never loved anything so much in my life. How could he, how _could he_ —”

“Shh.” Russia stroked her hair. “It’s all right.”

“ _All right?_ ” She echoed and she felt her anger spike, “ _They dissolved me_.”

“You’re alive, my dear,” Russia whispered in her ear, “They wanted to kill you and they failed.”

“They failed,” she hiccupped in agreement, “They _failed_.”

He continued stroking her hair until the sobs that wracked her body quieted into sniffs. He kissed her brow and found she did not fight it, so he stroked her cheek and pulled her back so that he might press his lips along her nose and mouth. She tilted her head to better meet the kiss and parted her mouth, kissing him back. He cradled her cheek in his hand, pleased at her willingness as he gently deepened it, taking his time to thoroughly savour how soft and sweet she was. When they finally separated, Prussia buried her face in his shoulder and clung to him desperately, squeezing her eyes shut as the visions of gold and blue and gold and blue faded into wisps that swept further than she could reach. The only thing it meant to her was happiness, beautiful happiness unlike anything she’d ever had and she wanted to hold it in her hands and press it to her breast but, like smoke, it dissipated leaving behind nothing. Nothing.

“What did you call me,” she said into his coat after the longest silence, voice still shaky, “When I first left with you?”

“East Germany,” Russia mused.

“East Germany,” she repeated, tasting the words, “East Germany.”


	2. The Hours Before

Germany double-checked his appearance in the mirror as he adjusted his tie for what seemed like the thousandth time, staring at his combed-back hair and wondering if he should wash out the oil and go for the more casual lightly tousled look that Prussia seemed to like so much. He’d been at it for a full hour already but he couldn’t help himself. He would never admit it aloud but he was the most nervous he had ever felt at the prospect of seeing his sister again and he wanted everything to be as perfect as it could possibly be. He’d gone over a number of scripts with a few of his subordinates as well as with France in an attempt to try to apologise to her for their fight because he never had been the one with words. He was so _scared_ that she wouldn’t want anything to do with him, that she wouldn’t forgive him or speak to him or – and this made his stomach twist with agony – _acknowledge_ that he even existed. There was nothing that frightened him more than that. He’d never known a world without her whereas she had existed for centuries on her own just fine. She didn’t need him. She never needed him. But France had said that Prussia _wanted_ to see him again, had mentioned some nonsense about her calling for him in her sleep (which, quite honestly, he found difficult to believe). While he had always been wary of France and France’s association with his sister, France had always been one of her closest friends, close enough that he was one of the very few who had known the secret of her gender throughout the centuries prior to the stupid, _stupid_ mistake Germany had made and so he forced himself to believe the man. Germany had to _try_ if nothing else to reconcile before the decade was through. He loved her. That was the truth.

“How long have you been at this?”

Germany glanced past his shoulder to see United Kingdom leaning against the doorway of his bedroom with crossed arms. He quickly tried to refrain from fiddling with his necktie further. He failed.

“…A while.”

“I’ll say. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a suit as straight or stiff as yours before. You could use it to support a roof,” he snorted.

Germany frowned lightly, unsure of how to respond as United Kingdom casually approached and smoothed out some imaginary creases on his lapels in that subconsciously paternal way of his. He undid Germany’s tie and pushed up his collar to more efficiently knot. Germany stood straight with both hands at his side and his chin up at the gesture. Like Germany, United Kingdom was dressed in a suit, though the jacket’s buttons were undone and he had taken to wearing a waistcoat over his shirt. In the corner of his eye, he saw the telltale glint of a pocket watch chain dangling from his waistcoat pocket. He wondered what time it was.

“You needn’t be so nervous,” United Kingdom said, engrossed. “It is like any other meeting.”

“I hope to make amends,” he replied softly.

“Of course, you do. However people who are too stiff tend to be unable to speak,” United Kingdom’s tone was prim and aware that he was right. Germany could not disagree. United Kingdom fixed his collar and patted the front of Germany’s chest where he had tucked the tie in neatly into his blazer. He leaned back to inspect his handiwork. Germany glanced at the mirror and brushed his fingers over the Windsor knot, vaguely remembering that this was also Prussia’s favourite knot. A knock on the door broke him out of his reverie. America was at the door, wide grin on his face.

“You’re all dolled up. Hot date?”

Germany frowned. “I’m attending the meeting.”

“What meeting?”

United Kingdom refrained from smacking himself in the face. “ _Prussia’s_ meeting.”

“Oh!” America yelled, grinning in realisation. He paused thoughtfully. “Why is he coming along?”

Germany wanted to say _Because Prussia is my sister_ and _I need to apologise to her_ but United Kingdom sighed dramatically and said, “Russia.”

“What about him?”

“He insisted that Germany participate in this meeting. Something about intra-German relations.”

“Whoa, but didn’t they have that huge fight in ’45?”

Germany winced and United Kingdom resisted the urge to smack America. “Hence the intra-German relations.”

“Is it even a good idea to drag Beefcake along?”

United Kingdom glared at America sharply. “Of course it isn’t.”

A puzzled look. “Then why are we bringing him? Can’t we just say ‘no’ to Russia?”

“America,” United Kingdom began with endless patience. “We absolutely _cannot_ say ‘no’ to Russia.”

“Well why not?”

Germany found it difficult to truly hate America and his unfounded bravado. His endless optimism and foolhardy courage was rather sweet if not utterly harebrained. As United Kingdom began to fastidiously explain things such as geography and military power and casualties and the Soviet Union to America, France quietly beckoned him from across the hall. Curiously, Germany stepped out of the room. There was a grim look on his face and it made him look more tired than usual.

“You’re going to stay here.”

“No, I’m not?” Germany was confused. “I was instructed to attend.”

“You’re going to wish you didn’t,” France warned. “You’re better off disobeying orders and just staying here.”

“What are you doing, France?” An irritated voice interrupted them. United Kingdom was like a hawk this day. “Don’t put ideas into his head.”

“He _wants_ to attend and it’s only right he be allowed.”

“How many chances will he get to see his sister?”

France said nothing at all in response, turning away and walking towards the foyer. A soldier walked up to them and told them the cars were prepared. America, United Kingdom and Germany followed after him.

There was some sort of altercation in the foyer of the house that was quickly resolved the moment Germany appeared, which was in and of itself rather peculiar. He wondered about the uneasy looks he was receiving. Though he was generally used to attention, particularly after the discovery of certain camps and institutions at the war’s end, these looks seemed… stranger. Oddly sympathetic. Sympathy, what a peculiar thought. He recalled America’s reluctance to bring Germany along. Perhaps United Kingdom would indulge him with an answer.

He was about to enter after France as he always did but a hand on his shoulder halted him.

“Germany, you’re riding with me today.”

He blinked at United Kingdom in surprise. “Of course.”

As the car drove along, he fiddled with the words in his head, turned them over and over again in an attempt to arrange it so it wouldn’t twist awkwardly on his tongue. He had always been bad with words of an unscripted nature. He eventually decided to give up – likely America and the others just didn’t want him and Prussia to meet again lest they have an even bigger fight or, gasp, reconcile and regroup and do something violently military – and reached in his pocket for his wallet where he had stored the little reconciliation script he had written up. It was slightly tattered and covered in annotations and scribblings but, as he took it out to unfold it, his eyes fell on a little dog-eared corner of _something_ that had been wedged behind his identification pass. He pulled it out. It was a photograph of them together for the first time after the camera had been employed in formal portraiture. His fingers brushed over their faintly smiling faces.

“Germany,” United Kingdom said. Germany looked up at him with his crossed legs and delicately laced fingers.

“We’re getting rid of Prussia.”

He didn’t move, not sure of what he’d heard. Get rid of her? Hadn’t they already done that by sending her off to Russia? “I beg your pardon?”

“Prussia. We’re getting rid of her.”

“I’m… not sure I follow.”

Something like realisation lit United Kingdom’s eyes. _Of course, you’re young_ , it seemed to say.

“Ah. I suppose I should clarify. Are you aware of the purpose of this meeting?”

“The announcement of the formation of a new government through democratic elections in the Soviet sector of Germany,” he supplied, still confused.

“That’s right. Notice the lack of the term ‘Prussia’ in the wording.”

“Well, naturally. She’s being occupied by the Soviet Union. If I were to make that sort of announcement, surely the wording would read ‘British sector of Germany’ rather than ‘Hanover’.”

He sighed in response. “You’re really cut from the same cloth, both of you. I suppose there’s no gentle way to say this: We are dissolving Prussia.”

Germany stilled.

He’d heard wrongly.

“… I beg your pardon?”

“The fact is that Prussia has had a long history of militarism; I’d deign to say her entire existence has been wrought for the purpose of militarism, particularly if you consider her origins. In line with our demilitarisation operations in Germany, the dissolution of Prussia is a logical step – one that we are continuing after your fortuitous dismantling of the local Prussia government early in the war, which has, and I must commend you for, made this decision much easier than anticipated to execute.”

 _Execute_ , what a choice of words. “I… I don’t…”

“Oh, rest assured, nothing will happen to _you_. After all, it seems ever more likely that you are simply a victim of this whole mess that she clearly started.”

Germany stared at him in shock, felt like he had just been punched.

“What… What do you mean?”

“Germany, Germany, Germany,” United Kingdom smiled in that trusting, fatherly way of his. “You’re so _young_. Surely you do not expect me or any one of the Allies to believe that these past two wars were your doing? And the _vicious_ discoveries in the course of it, surely a boy as you could not have come up with something of that degree.”

His mouth went dry, wanting to deny, but the entire situation so disturbed him. He could do no more than stare at the man in increasing horror.

“You’re… You’re going to…”

“Those responsible must, of course, pay the price for their actions in the war.”

 _But the Allies and the Allied forces and their crimes…_

“She’s your _scapegoat?_ ”

“No, Germany,” United Kingdom was serene. “She’s _yours_.”

His heart thundered in his ears and he was light headed, so light headed, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t _think_ , needed to loosen his tie and get some air. This was not something that anyone could ever sweep under the rug, this was not his fault and not her fault, not either of them individually but them _together_ ; they shouldered this burden as one even if they were not at fault and it was because they were both responsible and honourable and righteous and loyal and doing what was expected of them. Germany’s thoughts were a tangle of dark clouds and dark thoughts and he shook his head at United Kingdom, gripping the seat of the car in a quiet prayer for strength as his mouth ran off with his heart.

“It was me. I did it. I did everything. She always tried to talk me out of it but all of it was me. I’m the one to blame. She carried out my orders. You can’t do this to her. _You can’t get rid of her_.”

“You will find, Germany, that other than the fact that I am not used to – and, mind you, will never be used to – such presumptuous behaviour from a nation under my occupation who has incredible cheek to think that he could try to order _me_ around,” United Kingdom paused briefly to hold up a piece of paper in front of Germany’s face. “… You will find that I very well can.”

Germany read the unsigned copy of a new military law from the Allied Control Council. He felt faint. If he hadn’t been sitting down before, he surely would have fallen to his feet. He immediately lunged for the door, trying to get out of the car but United Kingdom kicked him in the stomach, slamming him back in his seat. Germany keeled over coughing and gasping, on the verge of vomiting. He raised his head to glare up at the man who had done no more than re-cross his legs.

“Going somewhere?”

“You bastard,” he choked out. “Why would you _do_ this?”

“Exiting a moving car is dangerous.”

“Don't play games! You _know_ what I mean.”

United Kingdom said nothing for a while. “You have absolutely no influence on this matter. Whatever you thought to do would make no difference.”

“I could appeal. I could appeal them to reconsider.”

“You couldn’t appeal to a child, let alone the entire Allied Control Council. Tell me, do you think America listens to anyone? He’s too hard-headed to pay any attention to well-meant advice if it goes against his ridiculous schemes.”

Germany felt himself sink in his seat. “America.”

United Kingdom cleared his throat and averted his gaze. “You could say he plays a fundamental role in the passing of this law.”

“What does she matter to him? He doesn’t even _see_ her. She’s under Russia’s command.”

“Which may be precisely why America is keen to do this,” United Kingdom said gingerly.

Germany understood.

“…When…”

“Today, during the meeting. Once the law is officially signed, we will receive notification and announce it.”

Germany began to cry.

“You’re _killing_ her,” his voice broke. “Why would you do that? Why would you ever want to end her life?”

United Kingdom said nothing else for the duration of the car ride, preferring to stare out the window. Germany wept as hard as he ever had in his life, clutching his head in his hands, mourning and mourning and mourning for his and Prussia’s impending reunion and separation. All he had wanted was to see her again, to apologise to her, to tell her he loved her more than anything and now all of it seemed _false_ because of what he knew, and oh dear _god_ he wished that United Kingdom had left him in the dark, would have allowed him to have been righteously angry and scared during the meeting itself but now he was complicit and he knew Prussia would know and nothing would ever convince her otherwise. He could have done this to give Germany the opportunity to make the best of the time they had left together. But he hadn’t. He, America, the Allies did this to wedge them for good. Germany sobbed into his hands, shaking at the thought of her death and the fact that he didn’t want this, _didn’t want this_ , wished he had gone to Russia instead, wished she hadn’t specifically decided to take this path because she knew, she must have known that something like this would happen. The only thing that gnawed inside him now was guilt guilt _guilt guilt guilt…_

“Remember that whatever you tell Prussia has no meaning,” France told him quietly as he clapped Germany’s shoulder. He never once met his eyes. “You might be saved her wrath if she forgets completely about you.”

Germany stared deliberately at the ground, hating the thought of being forgotten by her. He couldn’t remember getting out of the car or having his tears forced away but all he had was his feelings. He could not disobey. They had laid the grounds for punishment long ago. He was disgusted by how they had manipulated him in the only shard of happiness he’d seen in the longest time but the moment Prussia entered his mind he wanted to fall to his knees and break down in tears and let it kill him, let the sorrow take him instead of leaving him with guilt at her death and guilt at _her_ and maybe if he really truly died, they would spare her.

“They’ve arrived. Look alive.” And here there was a deliberate pause. “Really do. You’re like a corpse.”

Germany turned around.

In the distance, Prussia was radiant.

He wanted to tell her she was more beautiful than she had ever been, always been. To him, she had always been perfect and beautiful and everything he had ever wanted. It didn’t matter that she had spurned him time and time again because she thought him a child; to love and be loved by her was the most wonderful thing and he would not give up a moment of it, not one moment in his entire lifespan. He had never seen her look so feminine in all his life and her blooming appearance made him self-conscious and he wondered how he looked now after being kicked and after crying his eyes out. He was probably awful. He hated this. Everything hurt more and more with each step they took to each other. And when she was close enough to touch, it was all he could do not to throw his arms around her, hold her so tightly and intimately that they would adjourn or postpone the meeting at the inappropriateness. And when Prussia told him she would forgive him no matter the circumstances, it took everything not to cry so he held her hand as tightly as he could, tightly so she knew he loved her and loved her so much that when they sat together, this was how they would remember each other to the very last dregs of life: hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, together.

Across the hall, someone whispered in United Kingdom’s ear and he nodded.

Germany squeezed his eyes shut.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  [](http://etcetera-desu.livejournal.com/16302.html)   
>  **History notes.**


End file.
